The Lord of the Horns: The Fellowship of the Valve
by Ger
Summary: Essentially, a band version of Lord of the Rings. The first Chapter describes Nick Ikon's departure and his passing on of the Valve Ring to his niece and heir, Marisa Ikon. With luck, I hope to do the entire book. For any band fanatic or member.
1. A Long Needed Party

**Chapter 1  
A Long-Needed Party**

Well, I fell into prison  
About a quarter to t'ree  
Where I found in my cell  
A glass waiting for me  
So I filled what was empty  
And I pulled up a stool  
But he stood in the corner  
The old devil wouldn't move  
He said, "You drink when you're lonely"  
"No, I drink when I want"  
He said, "You'll never be sober"  
"Sure, why would I want dat?  
I only drink to be merry  
But unfortunately –  
I'm in the wrong prison cell and the wrong company"  
-Flogging Molly

A breath mark graced across the metal, trying to fade before being wiped away. With careful scrutiny, the black was polished to a glaring shine, revealing a pair of blue eyes in the reflection.

The instrument was brought close to face, given careful inspection, and, at a final length of time, deemed satisfactory and put down. The owner carefully disassembled the clarinet, placing each piece individually in its case.

A pale light cascaded across the room, through the triangular door, across the wooden table that was self-constructed, through the beams of the various chairs strewn around the room, and at last into the eyes of the clarinetist sitting, dutifully giving her instrument time and care.

She squinted, pushing loose strands of dark brown hair behind her ear as she closed and clasped her case. She got up and approached the door, noting the lack of any apparent activity or action. "Normal day in the Nyre," she noted glumly.

As she stuck her head out the door, she sighed – and rammed her head back into the wooden sides of the door as she leaped back. "_Shit!_" she hissed in frustration and pain. Grasping the back of her head, she took a wild swing at the mass of red hair that leaped away gleefully from her hit.

"What you up to, Marisa?" a boy asked, his green eyes dancing with amusement. "Anything useful?"

"If you consider planning you eminent death a useful aid to society, then yes," she told him bitterly. "And what could _you_ possibly be up to?"

"Bothering you," he told her, moving back and forth.

Marisa decided it was best not to respond. She promptly turned the opposite way of Mark's position and started her way down the path.

"Hey," she heard him exclaim, "what's the matter?"

Marisa struggled to keep the ends of her lips down as she continued her walk, not looking back.

"What'd you expect me to do?" he demanded, running up beside her. He went a bit ahead and turned around, attempting to run backwards and face her without tripping over his feet. "I've been blowing my damn flute all day; I _had_ to give it a rest. You _know_ it doesn't have the same stamina as me."

Had it been any other random conversation, she might have laughed at her friend's joke. As it was, the back of her head still had an unpleasant throbbing sensation.

She glanced at Mark in front of her. His faced flushed from running, his crazed attempt to keep up with her pace, his mop of fiery hair in every which way, and the desperate gulps at more air only added to the comedy he was so desperately trying to display. Mark was known to get anyone to laugh and now was no exception to that constant display. Still, Marisa would try.

"Mark," she tried to say with a straight face, "I have no understanding as to why I bother to associate with you."

"Why yes, my clarie, life is full of mysteries. Pray tell, why would _I_ dare to associate with so high pitched an instrument?" he asked her slyly.

"Excuse me, Mark Siermon, but I would surely hope you'd hesitate to comment on my high sound. If I recall, a flute is of higher pitch than a clarinet ever is."

Mark turned around, his ability to get enough air to sustain himself finally depleted, and walked alongside Marisa at her pace.

"Psh, claries. They think they know it all," he said breathlessly, giving Marisa a knowing smile. He knew she had calmed down now.

Again, Marisa decided the best course of action was to maintain silence. She glanced up at the huge oak tree at the center of their town. From here all roads went in their separate directions to all other ends of the Nyre.

The Nyre was split up into two main sections which divided into smaller sects – the West and East Building. Even though expansion of the Nyre had long since ceased, these names were still used in a formal manner (and the only manner) even though they were technically informal.

From there, the rest of the Nyre was divided by the original instrument families that had settled. Since then, families had multiplied, same instruments held different last names, and few groups of instruments had moved to other parts of the Nyre. As it was, their town was Instrumton, in the West Building.

Most of Instrumton and even the near town of Byspittle had begun talking about Nick Ikon and his upcoming birthday. It was his age that was the greatest marvel of the entire thing. For someone so young, he had already left the Nyre for some sort of adventure. The fact that it was with foreign brass and the wizard Handal made it all the more peculiar.

Nick had already a reputation before he even left of being too crude and a little too free with his speech. Nearly all of the Nyre, once word had gotten around, had been wondering what his return would bring. But as time passed, and Nick's return seemed missing, it was assumed he was dead. His distant relatives, the Saxville-Ikons, had already tried to seize his home of Reed End when he arrived back, him raving that he couldn't believe a woodwind would steal from another and, had it been any other Saxophone family, he would never have received such treatment. While it wasn't too much of an inconvenience, he had to result to buying back his property from his greedy relatives.

Given that Marisa Ikon was Nick's cousin, naturally word circled around her as well. As the two were walking through the main part of town, they passed by _The Scented Bush_, an inn, where Nam Siermon was telling passerby about the Ikon family. Nam had worked the gardens of Reed End and had retired, passing the job onto his son, Mark Siermon. The two stopped by to listen, out of sight of the gossipers.

"Perfectly fine bandie, if I may say so. Sure, Mr. Ikon can be a tad bit queer from time to time, but I'm sure he must have picked it up from his travels," Nam was saying.

"Oh, travels, my foot!" declared Old Loacks. "He's too crude and curses far too much, and the rest of you know it too! And don't tell me it was because of any travels, for we all know what that Ikon was like before he dared to leave. The only difference he brought back with him was he was suspicious of brass and percussion (and God only knows why) and that faded with time as he came back to his senses.

"In any case, what of that Marisa? Her name may be Ikon but she's more than half a Brandywood. Makes no sense for any sensible Instrumton to go looking away in Woodland for a wife – they're too damn _weird_."

"There's no question to that," Paddy Twotones (Nam's next door neighbor) added. "Pure woodwind, that family. That they choose to live near the Brandystring River is odd enough for a woodwind, yet they're against the Forest too. That's an avoidable place, if tales be true."

"All too true," Nam muttered as he blew out a smoke ring from his pipe. "And I hear tell they walk around in there from time to time. Talking to the trees, folks say. I'm a flute and I'll be the first to condemn: such actions aren't natural! Plus the boating they do up there? Were their instrument to fall in – why, they'd be ruined! Not even the percussion meddles with water more than needed and what fears have they of the stuff? True, the Brandywoods are a queer bunch.

"But that says nothing of Marisa. Kindest girl you'll ever meet and raised by Nick too. So I'd hold your tongue Loacks before insulting Ikon, there. He must be doing something right to have her come out as she has. Lord knows the girl takes after him, to an extent. And why not, after all? Her father _was_ an Ikon. Pleasant man, Chriso Ikon, though not much was ever said of him, 'til he drowned."

"Drowned?" several asked. Rumors had circulated about the Ikon name and never was there a lack of thirst for them.

"So they say," Nam told them, deep in memory. "Mr. Chriso, he married Miss Prime Brandywood. She being the first cousin of Mr. Nick on the mother's side (her mother being the youngest of the oldest Took's daughters (all trumpets, that family)) and Mr. Chriso his second cousin, Marisa ends up being his first _and_ second cousin, once removed either way, as the saying is, if you follow me. Anyway, poor Mr. Chriso gets the idea that he might try his hand at boating with his wife and the two drown. Poor Marisa was just a baby too."

"I heard that it was Chriso's weight that sunk the boat," Old Loacks put in.

"And _I_ heard Prime pushed him in and he pulled her down after," said Sawman, Instrumton's repair man for instruments.

"Well, rumors have been getting farther out of hand than _I_ thought," Nam retorted. "Ignoring your two comments – and begging your pardon, whatever that may be worth – poor Marisa was stuck all on her own. So, Nick, being the kind man that he is, took the poor child in.

"Must've been an unpleasant surprise, though, for the Saxville-Ikons. They thought the deed to Reed End was just in their grasp when Nick had left and we all thought him dead. Yet he comes back alive, young as ever, and gets them away, and now he's got an heir to the place. They'll never see it in their lifetimes."

Mr. Sawman gulped down the last of the beer he was drinking before giving more of his two cents: "He's an odd one, and that's the most there is to it. Too free with the mouth, unrestrained with the women, and too free with his guests, if you ask me; always foreign instruments coming over his place. They visit enough, they'll start to move in, mark my words. And then what'll become of Instrumton? We'll be like Cree, with their socializing with the color guard, that's what!" While none would admit it, Mr. Sawman was saying exactly what was on everyone's minds.

"Well, you say what _you_ like, "Mr. Siermon countered back, "but it'll be nothing of which you know anything about!"

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As the party grew nearer, the rumors grew stronger. There was one dancing about that Handal would be there with fireworks. It was all the little ones would talk about for days on end and they nearly seemed fit to explode with excitement the day that Handal's wagon came rolling into Instrumton. They ran alongside it, cheering as he waved to them. As he neared the door of Nick's house, Nick came out to greet him. Helping him unload, Nick whispered to the old wizard, "Aw, look at the little fuckers. I bet they can't wait for the party."

Handal laughed at his joke. "Same as always, I see. Yes, it seems they are."

"Better make sure we'll have enough presents. Shit…" Nick muttered as he went back in, pondering preparations, to the amusement of his lifelong friend.

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Inside Reed End, the two were admiring the garden. An array of colors shone out into the window which Handal and Nick sat by. Both were smoking herbs, as was normal in Instrumton, though Nick had a half empty bottle of vodka next to him.

"Beautiful garden," Handal remarked. "Mark has taken care of it well."

"Yeah, the little squirt has. _Damn_, I'm going to hate to go," Nick said bitterly. "But I feel I have to. I need a holiday."

"You mean to go on with your plan then?"

"Yeah, I do. I made up my mind _months_ ago, and I sure haven't changed it."

"Very well. It's no good saying any more. Stick to your plan – your whole plan, mind you – and I hope it will turn out for the best, for you, and for all of us."

"I hope so." Nick abruptly laughed at that moment, with a sidelong glance from Handal. "What? I was thinking of Thursday," he explained. "I plan to enjoy myself, is all, and have my little joke."

"Who will laugh, I wonder?" said Handal, shaking his head.

"We'll see," Nick said with assurance, still cracking up.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At last, the day of the party came. The entire yard of Reed End was decked out to utter extravagance. Streamers and other ornaments dotted the trees, and, once night hit, they came alive with light.

Nearly everyone from Instrumton and Byspittle was invited, along with others from the rest of the Nyre and even those outside the borders. Many presents were distributed and it took many a while to get the children calm enough to eat.

Food was to excess and every individual contented themselves until the late hours of the night. There was more than enough drink as well, though in that case probably unfortunately. Nick ended up regurgitating whatever he had gotten down three times during the party and his sense of when it was appropriate to display his sense of humor got muddled: at one point he brought in two girls, dressed as prostitutes, to the party as a joke, to a great deal of alarm from many of the mothers and fathers there. Luckily, he was able to explain himself and offer enough money and food to sooth ill feelings.

When it was dark enough, the fireworks began. To the Instrumton inhabitants' delight, there was a fair amount of instruments shown, with added sounds to go along: they watched as a shining, blue clarinet, a red flute, and a purple saxophone played, delighted at the sight of a player-less percussion feature, and laughed at a comical display of a flute verse a trumpet in higher pitch. While there many more pairings and a multitude of different acts, some fear ignited when a tuba blared flaming notes towards the crowd as the lights cut off. When all realized that no harm was done, they all tried to make it look as if they hadn't been afraid and tried to call the person next to them on their fear.

After that, dinner ensued (as if they hadn't enough food) and near the end Nick got up to make a speech. Having drunk enough that day, they knew what to expect in any speech he might give but, considering they had been stuffed with food and their own amount of drink, they didn't seem to care.

"Ikons and Bonkin percussionists," Nick started before being drowned out by cheers. "Ikons and Bonkin percussionists," he started again., "and Took trumpets and Brandywoods (of which there are far too many woodwinds to count), and Nrubb tubas, and Crubb baritones, and Browels brasses, and Hornblowers, and Rolger French horns, Bracegirdie snares, Goodnoddie bassoons, Siermon flutes, and Trombones." "'BONERS!" shouted an older bandie from the back.

"And you're sporting a nice one, I see!" Nick shouted back, to the embarrassment of the aging bandie. "Also, I greet my Saxville-Ikons. Welcome back to Reed End, which you still haven't stolen from me yet or ever will, stupid fuckers." Nick had muttered the last part but the front near him had still heard and there were a handful of children who were punished the next days for asking what a "fucker" was.

"I suppose I want to thank those who have been tolerable in my time here in the Nyre. I certainly haven't known you all long enough." There was an outburst of cheers, particularly from Nam Siermon. As the noise subsided, Nick continued. "For those of you who have pissed me off, consider this invite my last bit of hospitality to you." For those who knew they were on good terms with Nick, there were applause, but, for those who were uncertain, there were looks of suspicion and worry.

"As you all know, it is _our_ birthday today – that being my niece, Marisa, and mine's birthday. Today, she comes into her inheritance – and rightfully so!" All cheered except the Saxville-Ikons. Shouts of "Marisa!" came up as well.

"I remember on this day I arrived at Ezgarnth. Wonderful town, but in all it's vicinity not a single brothel! Can you believe that?" Tenacious silence. They were afraid Nick might burst into some long and atrocious story right then and there. But no story was forthcoming.

"Lastly, I wish to make an _announcement_. I regret to announce that this is the _end_. I am going. I am leaving _now_. _Good-bye!_"

Nick stepped down from the chair he was on and, upon hitting the floor, disappeared. There was a blaring note that sounded like it came from a trumpet at the same time.

Immediately there was talk that sprang up from every Ikon, Bonkin, Took, Brandywood, Nrubb, Crubb, Browels, Hornblower, Rolger, Bracegirdie, Goodnoddie, Siermon, Trombone, and Saxville-Ikon. All agreed the joke was bad, though to be expected from Nick. Only Marisa seemed to be enjoying it, though she had known about it all along.

In the meantime, Nick was already entering his house and changing for his journey. His party clothes were packed away and an old cloak and sword were put on. He took a look at himself in the mirror, gave his yellow hair a rough run through with his hand and turned to the fireplace mantle. He placed a ring that would go around a trumpet valve on the mantle and a piece of paper as well. As he turned to go, he abruptly reached and took the ring and placed it in his pocket. Handal entered the room at that moment.

"Hey Handal," Nick said. "Was wondering when you'd show up."

"Glad to actually _see_ you," Handal remarked, stroking his long beard. He took a seat. "I take it you're pleased with your little joke."

Nick laughed. "Pleased? Did you see their faces? And when that trumpet went off? They won't be talking about much else; of that, I'm sure."

Handal sighed, humored. "Indeed. Well, it seems your plans are coming to a full. You mean to leave, then?"

"Absolutely. The Nyre is great and some of the people are awesome but others –" A look of distress came over Nick's face, as if he were struggling with himself. He slammed his hand on his dresser. "They're all so _ignorant_!" he exclaimed. "There's an entire world out there!" He exhaled heavily, and then straightened up. "But I guess it can't be helped." He gave a harried glance at Handal, who watched his friend with worried distance. "I'm distressed, Handal. I – I feel I'm all over the place all the time. I'm restless and at odds with everything." He paused for a moment, thinking. A look of calm started to appear. "I think I've come up with an end to my story," Nick said at length. "'And he left contented, satisfied in his endeavors.'"

"And what did he leave?" Handal asked.

Nick gave him a slight smile and said, "That you have to figure out for yourself."

Nick checked himself and looked back at Handal. "You'll watch over Marisa? Sometimes I think she's the only person worth anything in this whole place."

Handal chuckled. "I'm sure you don't mean that. But yes, I'll watch over her."

"Good. I've left everything to her."

"Everything? The ring as well?"

Nick roughly ran his hand through his hair as he thought about the question. "Uh…yeah. Should be on the mantle." Handal got up to check when Nick slowly put his hand into his pocket. "No…." He took the trumpet valve ring out and looked at it in his palm. He half laughed, as if amazed. "It was right here in my pocket. But why shouldn't it be?"

Handal turned around slowly, surprised by his friend's change of decision. "We've talked about this already, Nick; leave the ring behind."

Nick whipped around, furious. "Why don't you just back off, Handal? What business is it to you of what I do with my things, you asshole!" His voice had lost the lackadaisical and friendly tone it normally had; it became anxious, piercing, suspecting, and harsh. Handal had never seen Nick give anyone the look he was receiving right now. He was unsure how to respond. "You always bothered me about it. It's mine! My own. My _precious_…."

If Handal had needed to sober up before, that had done it. "It's been called that before," he said slowly, "but not by you."

"Oh, and so what if Bullom called it that? It's mine now. And so it will stay." Nick's voice had risen to a shrill screech by now. Handal watched, his heart racing, striving to figure out what to do. Nick only saw a grave figure, watching him though.

"I think it may be in _your_ best interest to let it be. To be free, yourself."

Nick's hand jerked to his sword, the ring poised over his index finger, his middle finger raised. "_I_ think _not_."

Handal's figure seemed to rise, filling the room. "I think it may be my turn to get angry now," he warned. Both stood, staring each other down; Nick was crouched in a corner, looking ready to kill; Handal seemed to encompass the rest of the room.

At a time, Nick relaxed. "What's with you, Handal? It is mine, isn't it? I'm not a thief, as Bullom said."

Handal seemed to recede. "I never said you were. Nor am I one, while we are on that subject. I only mean to protect you, never rob you."

Nick rested against the wall for a moment, breathing heavily. "What was I doing? I don't want this stupid thing anymore." Though it seemed with difficulty, he placed it on the mantle. Immediately his skin regained color and he demeanor changed. He turned cheerfully to Handal. "Care to walk me out?"

The two went to the door, just as it opened to reveal Marisa. "So you're really leaving then?" she asked.

"I'm afraid," Nick responded. He looked at her for a moment. ""I meant to leave before you got back – figured it'd be easier – but it seems you beat that plan." She smiled at his statement, standing there awkwardly. "Don't get too close to any brass, alright?" he told her. "Especially any trumpets."

She laughed at his old suspicions. "I won't; I promise."

They stood there for a second before Nick noted, "Look, I'm not really good at these emotional moments, so –"

She laughed again. "It's alright." Nick laughed as well, put her in a fake headlock, and took his first step out the door. He started down the path, waving before he disappeared out of sight.

"Well, he's gone then," Marisa stated.

"Yes," Handal put in, "I was rather unsure if it'd even ever happen. He left a load for you, including the ring."

"The ring as well?"

"Yes, though I'd advice sparse use of it, if any at all. Keep it secret, and keep it safe! Now, I am going to bed." And with that the two departed.


	2. The Sharp of the Past

**_Note:_** The font for the Fluten tongue does not show up here. For original documents and font, E-mail and request. Later Chapters have illistrations. Again, E-mail me and request.

**Chapter 2  
The Sharp of the Past**

Dig her grave much deeper,  
The fatal price you pay  
I hope I'm there to hold her  
When she comes back again

I see the death and the disaster  
There is no happy ever after  
The time has come,  
Countdown's begun  
-Ozzy Osbourne

Though Nick was now gone, his presence was still felt. He had left a lot of other items for other people in his will and now Marisa was in charge of distributing them. Reed End was backed up for miles with relatives and friends clamoring for what they could get their hands on.

Marisa knew she's have a ton to deal with so she had asked her friend Henry Lin Brandywood to come over and help her with the task. Even still, they found enough people trying to smuggle items that weren't theirs away, replace tags that named whose item was whose with their own homemade tag, and, even, tear the place down. There were more than enough rumors (as seemed to be often with inhabitants of the Nyre) that Nick had brought back treasure, special made instruments, and supreme cleaning kits from his trip. For whatever reason, this gave "visitors" the idea that if they could find it, by whatever means, they could claim the treasure as their own. Those individuals found out how hard clarinet and oboe cases really are before they left that day.

At some point, Marisa asked Henry to take over for a while as she rested, exhausted from the work that had been done that day. At that time, conveniently, the Saxville-Ikons decided to make a visit. Morin and Gilda Saxville-Ikon stormed in, demanding to see Marisa. Henry tried to stop them, looking unsure as how to handle the situation.

"Um, she's resting, at the moment –" he started before Gilda cut him off.

"I don't care what she's doing! We want to see her, _now_!" she screeched, to the enlightenment of the other people there and embarrassment of her husband.

Henry sighed heavily and went to get Marisa. He poked his head into her study, to which a worrisome look came over her. "A Morin and Gilda Saxville-Ikon to see you," he told her, with a slight hint at humor. She half smiled as she got up, which made it look all the more like a grimace.

As she approached the couple, she asked hesitantly, "How can I help you?" Immediately the two tried to bargain for other items that had no tags on them or tags of other individuals. After Marisa told them that only what was out with tags was available and to whomsoever was detailed on the tag, they demanded to see the will. After giving it a look over, Morin tossed it to the side, seeing that Nick had specifically wrote out who was to get what.

"Cheated out again!" he spat to his wife. "And after _sixty_ years! Reeds? It's a stab at my playing, I'll tell you that!" Morin left thereafter; Gilda, on the other hand, snooped around for a bit longer before she was escorted off the premises.

At the door, she turned around and said, "You'll rue _this_, mark my words! Why didn't you leave _with_ that cretin? You don't belong here; you're no Ikon – you – you're a Brandywood!"

"You hear that, Henry? That was an insult," Marisa told him as she closed the door.

"It was a compliment," Henry told her, taking a quick break to respond from whatever he was doing, "and so, of course, not true."

Eventually, everyone left and Marisa was able to finally relax. She made herself a cup of coffee, and sat down. But the second she did, there was a knock at the door. "You're not wanted," she shouted with what effort she could give before relaxing again.

"What a shame; seems a lot _has_ changed since Nick left," said the voice of Handal, drifting through the wood grains.

Immediately, Marisa put her cup down and got up. "Handal! If I had known it was you, I would have said otherwise."

"Ah, no need for apologies," Handal reassured her as he entered. "I knew you must have mistaken me for someone else for me to receive such a response.

"I just wanted to reach you to tell you I am going again."

"Again?" she asked incredulously. "But you just got here. I thought you'd stay for at least another week."

"I had planned to, but that ring had changed my mind. I want to find out more about it," he told her.

Marisa's hair had fallen over her eyes at that moment. "Damn it, I wish it'd stay still for once," she muttered as she moved the strands behind her ears again.

Handal chuckled, remarking, "I suppose that's one of the advantages to growing your hair on the bottom half of your face. But in any case, tell me, did Nick ever give you alternate versions of how he acquired the valve ring?"

Marisa thought for a moment before answering, "No. He did admit to me that he had told other stories before but the day I moved in he told me the correct story. He said there were to be no secrets between us." She scratched the top of her head in confusion. "I can't figure out why though. The actual story was more believable than the alternate version he had given. And it wasn't like him to lie. Well, about something like that, at least. And not to traveling companions or you."

"I thought it odd as well. But perhaps it is something to do with such treasures. They can make a man act anomalous, unfortunately. That ring may have more powers than we know. As I had said to you, sparse use. I hope I will know more by the time I come back."

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As time passed, rumors started to circulate again, though not of the Nyre this time. There was a general road that led through the Nyre that foreign brass often took on their way to their metal mines in the Copper Mountains. Generally, information was gleaned from them, if any was desired at all.

But, by someone, information was gleaned and word was spreading that there was an enemy in the Land of Miseri. The name was foreign and old to the Nyre. But it was not unknown. There were whispers that the evil power in Soilwood that had been driven out by the Council of Wizards had replanted itself in Miseri. The Dark Tower had been rebuilt. There was talk of wars starting and that Orchs were multiplying. A change, like the pain of a sharp note, was said to be coming.

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It had been a while since Handal had visited Marisa, so his arrival in the morning was a surprise. Of course, the two greeted each other enthusiastically, immediately sitting down by the window to the garden with cups of coffee and other foods.

"So, Handal, what brings you back," Marisa asked as she took a sip of her coffee.

"Well, your ring, to be honest. I'm afraid I've learned…disparaging news about it."

Marisa slowly put down her cup. "Disparaging? In what way.

Handal drew in a great deal of smoke from his pipe and let it out slowly, to calm his nerves. "Perhaps I should start with the history," he muttered as his face blurred in smoke.

"In Eyernpo, long ago, there were magic instruments that were made, of many kinds. There were lesser instruments and potent instruments. And then there were Great Instruments, the Instruments of Power.

"There are many powers that instruments can give. They could put people to sleep or perhaps command them for some time. But one general ability that most of the Instruments of Power had was to make the user invisible, in some fashion or another. A user of a Great Instrument grows slowly discontent, Marisa, with everything around him that he knows to be wrong. It eats at him more and more as time continues, eventually driving him mad. And for those that use them to turn invisible often, they eventually fade, 'til they are forever under the dark power that rules the instruments."

There was a pause, where Marisa asked, "How much did Nick know?"

"Did Nick know? No more than he told either of us, I'm sure. If ever there was a problem with the ring, he attributed it to himself. He used to say that the ring would change in size and weight, so that it might slip off your finger during its wearing."

"Yes," Marisa nodded, "he did used to say that. He'd carry it on a chain to make sure it wouldn't come off, as I've continued doing at his advice." She fidgeted in her chair at that moment, crossed her legs, sighed in disgust, uncrossed them, and slumped downwards finally.

Mark's shears in the garden could be heard through the window in the silence.

"I want to show you something about that ring," Handal said at length.

Marisa straightened up. "Like what?" she asked.

"Give me the ring." Marisa gave him a questioning look. "Come now, Marisa, now is not the time." Reluctantly, she drew it from her pocket. After a lifetime had passed, she found the ring in Handal's hand, heading towards the fire; she didn't remember giving it to him. When it dawned upon her what was happening, pain shot up in her chest as she gasped, leaping up.

"No!" Handal commanded, keeping her back. He reached for the tongs and picked the ring out of the ashes and flames. He blew on it briefly and then turned to Marisa. "Take it; it's quite cool." He dropped the ring into her up turned palms. "Does it say anything?" Marisa held the ring close to her, inspecting it, as Handal closed the blinds, casting the room in darkness. Slowly, on every part of the valve ring that was smooth, fiery letters appeared.

Obc vx t rg ta ar. Obc vx t fan ar.  
Obc vx t bs ta ar ac irq an mle brs ta.

Marisa squinted at the strange writing. "I can't read what it says," she said at length.

"Yes," Handal murmured. "But I can. The tongue is of Flute. Though in the Common Tongue, it says:

_One Valve to rule them all. One Valve to find them.  
__One Valve to bring them all and in the music bind them._

It's only two lines of a verse long known to foreign instruments outside the Nyre:

_Three Horns for the Woodwinds, masters of air.  
__Seven for the Brass in their halls of metal.  
__Nine for the Percussion, commanders of friction.  
__One Valve for the Dark Lord, with a plan to settle.  
__In the Land of Miseri, where your tone does die.  
__One Valve to rule them all. One Valve to find them.  
__One Valve to bring them all and in the music bind them.  
__In the Land of Miseri, where your tone does die."_

Handal paused and closed his eyes. He opened them slowly before adding, "This is the Master-valve, the One Valve to rule them all. In all my life, I feared that I'd stumble upon this." His eyes glanced to the ring in Marisa's hand. "And there it is," he murmured, barely a whisper.

He inhaled deeply before continuing. "I'm sure you've heard the rumors about Rowell the Great, the Dark Lord. He has, indeed, left his old home of Soilwood and returned to the Dark Tower of Miseri."

Marisa didn't respond. She just seemed to stare forward. At a length, she did stir. "Why did this have to happen in my lifetime?"

"Isn't that what all ask who face such times? But it is not for us to pine, but to do what we can with what we are given.

"The enemy lacks one thing to give him full strength – the One Valve. The Three the Woodwind-lords hid from him, due to overhearing his plans, luckily. But the others didn't. While Brass are hard to bend to one's will, he eventually overtook three of the Seven, the others destroyed by dragon fire. For whatever reason, he decided to overtake the Nine immediately and they are no longer their own. They are his most dreadful servants, shadows under his great Shadow.

"Now, he has gathered the Nine and the Seven, though the Three are still hidden. But he doesn't care about them anymore. All he needs is the One Valve, and his power will be complete. He knows that the valve has been found and all his strength has been put into finding it."

A chill ran through Marisa and she shuddered, crouching downward, as if to go into a fetal position where she was sitting. "But how did this happen? How could anyone have possibly gotten it away from Rowell?" She held the ring tightly in her hands, as if she felt a hand might try to pry it from her at any moment.

"Ah, they were better times, in some ways," Handal said softly. "At least, there was less division amongst instruments. There was no dislike because one was Brass and the other Woodwind. Why, they even went under only three banners: Woodwind, Brass, and Percussion. Now? The Flutes and Clarinets quarrel, Saxophones want no part with either brethren, Trombones despise the Trumpets, and French horns hate the Saxes. Then – I remember the armies marching proudly, separated by kind alone but still one. Those were the days! And under those powers did we vanquish the Dark Lord.

"It was a Piccolo and a Baritone who overthrew Rowell, though they passed away in the endeavor; at the end, it was Enders Engeloth's son that cut the ring from Rowell's hand. But as he was marching back home, his party was overcome by Orchs. Gildor jumped to the river, only for the ring to leave his hand, and the Orchs to spot him."

Handal paused. "From there, for a while, no one knew what had happened to the One Valve. But I think I do now…."

There was silence briefly. Mark's shears were still heard outside.

"There was a time when the creature of Bullom was not so tormented and demented, for lack of better words. I believe he had a friend at one point, who found the ring somewhere in a river. Bullom had asked for the ring, saying he deserved it because it was his birthday. When it wasn't given up, Bullom committed murder. He used the ring for awful things: stealing, spying, etc. And so finally, he was evicted from his house. He traveled far and wide 'til, to escape any light, he ventured into the mountains and there he stayed.

"That is, until Nick stumbled across him. The ring knew its master was out there. It was trying to escape. What it did not expect was for Nick to find it instead. I do say Nick must have angered Bullom dearly when he cussed him out for not showing him the exit, but luckily Bullom did not lose his temper. Nick had his sword at that time and the light it illuminated must have terrified Bullom, so they settled to a riddle match."

Marisa shifted in her chair. "Befitting of such a creature. A game where if he's the winner he gets a meal and yet if he loses he leaves unharmed."

"True, but there's more to it, I think," Handal noted. "The ring has not rotted all of Bullom's mind. There's still some bit of it which is his own. Nick's a rather easy person to get along with, for those who don't mind his humor, and I think Bullom desired the company, after all those years alone."

"How do you know all of this? Did you find him?"

Handal sighed. "Yes, but too late, I fear. After Nick had taken the ring, Bullom sat around with his regret. But the ring had released its grasp upon him. And he grew stronger. He still wanted it back, assuredly. But he was able to venture out. He still hates light, of any sort. I'm afraid he always will. But he found ways to avoid it.

"And so he traveled, picking up information. And in that he heard Nick's name, for it has spread widely by now. And he turned his path otherwise. He made his way to Soilwood, as would be expected, joining the other evil creatures that had dwelled there. I already had others on the look out for him and they picked up his trail. But they lost it unfortunately and made a mistake: I let him go.

"Yes, a mistake, and not my first. But I fear it may have been my worst. It was not 'til Nick had left that I decided I might take up the search again. But by the time I found Bullom, he was miserable, grasping his hands as if in pain. He had ventured far and wide, and had at last found his way to the Land of Miseri.

"He learned much – too much for his liking, I think. They found him in the end, as was inevitable. And they tortured him and made him talk. The Dark Lord knows, Marisa – everything."

Silence. Even Mark was no longer heard.

"Oh, why didn't Nick stab the beast when he had the chance?" Marisa moaned. "A pity he didn't finish him then."

"Pity? It was pity that stayed Nick's hand. And thankfully so: that is the reason he hasn't been consumed by the evil and even escaped in the end; because he began his ownership of the ring so. With pity."

Handal looked around the room, apparently in thought. "There's only one way to be rid of the ring, and of Rowell, and that is by tossing it into the Cracks of Doom deep in the volcano in Miseri. It was there that the Dark Lord forged the trumpet valve ring and only there that it can be destroyed."

Again, silence lapsed between them. "I don't want this. But I feel I must carry this burden. At least until you find someone else for it. I would hate to have the Nyre harmed, though I've often held Nick's belief that many here were too ignorant and dull for their own good. To be honest, a little danger might do them more help than anything. But still, I fear for them. I must go alone and bear this alone."

"Marisa!" Handal laughed. "Your people always do amaze me. I hardly expect such an answer, even from you! Nick chose well his heir, though I doubt he had something like this in mind. Dreadfully, you are right. You must leave, as well as the name Ikon, behind. You must go as Ms. Orificepiece from now on."

Handal stopped at that moment. It was deathly quite, inside and out. Slowly, with no noise, Handal crept to the window, reached down, and yanked Mark Siermon up by his shirt.

"Molestation!" Mark shouted as loud he could.

"Quiet, you!" Handal barked. "How long have you been listening?"

"Listening?" Mark asked, his face turning red. "I haven't been listening to anything! I've been trimming the blasted garden, as is my job!" And with that he swooped down, against Handal's strength, and picked up his shears. "As you see!"

"Hmm, and you expect me to believe that, Mark Siermon?"

"Well, I don't see why not," Mark countered. "The evidence is all here."

"I haven't heard your shears for a while. Care to tell me why?" Handal asked menacingly.

"I was taking a break," Mark protested, trying to squirm from Handal's grasp as his breath shortened. "Shearing is hard work, you know!" When he found he couldn't escape the grasp which ensnared him, Mark tried a different approach. "Alright, I took a little listen, but nothing important I'm sure! Some crap about destroying a ring and some Dark Lord from long ago and Cracks of Doom and other unimportant stuff! Now can I go? I don't want any harm."

Marisa couldn't help but laugh. "You know as well as I do no harm will befall you," she told Mark.

Handal had the shadow of a smile and humor upon his face as well. "Yes, no harm. I think I've found use for you, after all, Mark."

"Oh? Is that so?" Mark asked in surprise.

"Yes, you will travel with Marisa to help her on her journey."

"Travel with her?" Mark protested. But at a look from Handal, he asked cheerfully, "When do we start?"


	3. Need Company Long Cut Beats Conspiracy

Note: This story includes font of the Fluten Tongue. Since the font will not show up here, E-mail me for the font and original document if you wish to see it.

**Chapter 3  
The Need of Company/A Long Cut to Beets/A Conspiracy**

It's on me –  
But still I'm havin' memories of high speeds when the cops crash,  
As I laugh, pushin' the gas when my glocks blast  
We was young, and we was dumb, but we had heart  
-2Pac

"You ought to get going soon," Handal told Marisa. It had been several months since their awareness that they possessed the One Valve.

"Yes, but I simply can't disappear," she defended of herself.

"Disappear? Dear, no. That would only cause attention, all too similar to that which Nick generated. You must eventually leave, not immediately."

Marisa picked up something on the mantle, inspecting it in her hands. "Yes. I was thinking after our upcoming birthday."

Handal slightly smiled. "Very well; that ought to do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Unsurprisingly, word quickly was being tossed around that Marisa was selling Reed End, and to the Saxville-Ikons at that. When she was pressed about it, she told everyone that she was moving back to Woodland, to be nearer to her Brandywood relatives along the Brandystring River. As they spoke, Henry Lin Brandywood was looking for a nice home for Marisa.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With reluctance, Marisa opened the door to Reed End for the last time. She looked at the people within the house there to help her in moving: Mark Siermon, Henry Lin Brandywood, Melissa Spencer Took, and Fred Rolger.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, about," Henry told her. "Me and Fred will head out first, then? Prepare the place for you?"

Marisa nodded as she entered the home, looking at everything. Henry and Fred slipped out, carrying some items that needed transportation out. The other two stood in silence as Marisa continued to look around, placing a hand on every item within her reach, as if to remember every sense of them, excluding taste.

"Oh, come on. If it pains you _that_ much, maybe you ought to just not move," Melissa commented.

Marisa looked towards her friend, half smiled, and continued her walk around the house. "Understanding as always, I see," she commented, turning so that Melissa couldn't see her smile.

Melissa partly laughed. "I was just saying."

From there, the three friends enjoyed themselves a bit more with food and drink and recalling past memories. As night fell, Marisa took a quick look outside before preparing to go. Around the corner, she heard voices. While one was unidentifiable, the other was clearly Nam Siermon. She distinctly heard his answers to the other person.

"What? Marisa Ikon? She left this morning, with my Mark. She's moved from Reed End. What? You mean to find her? Geez, I don't know _where_ she went. Somewhere near the Brandystring River, I think. Deliver a message? Are you daft? I'm going to bed!" With that a door slammed shut.

Marisa quickly hurried back into the house. She found Melissa and Mark talking. "Let's go, shall we? I think our stay has been overdue."

The three musicians headed out in the silence of the night. For a day and a half they traveled, with sparse breaks in between. At one point they came upon woods in Woodall in the East Building. The trio was just finishing a song which ended with, "And then to bed." "How about 'And _now_ to bed'?" Melissa asked, though to silent agreement from the other two. At that moment, footsteps were heard on the path.

"Probably another Black Rider," Mark said quietly. They had come across a rider dressed entirely in black with a black horse earlier in their trip. Without speaking, the group went to the side of the road. Marisa was slightly closer to the road than the other two, to see the rider. As they sat there, they heard the breathing and footsteps of the horse approach them. As before, Marisa had a sudden urge to slip on the trumpet valve ring onto her finger. But this time it was far stronger. Before she knew what was happening, she was groping in her pocket for the piece of metal. Her head pounded with the need to have the cold clasp her skin. A scream lodged in her throat. And then a song burst through the clearing, chasing away the rider, accompanied with the sounds of flutes.

"Foreign Flutes!" she heard Mark exclaim through the muddied state of her mind. Dully, she felt him race past. She also felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Melissa asked with concern.

Marisa shook her head. "Yes, I ought to be fine. What's up with Mark?"

Melissa laughed. "We have the company of foreign Flutes. You know that's a big deal to Mark because he plays it."

Marisa laughed as well as she sat up. "Of course. I'll forgive him then for not checking on me."

The two friends headed toward the road again. As they approached, they noticed a group entirely of females standing there, holding flutes or flute cases. They were all laughing, clearly merry.

A Flute spotted their approach. "Hail Marisa!" she stated. "You're out late. And with two others! We haven't seen such a thing since Nick left!"

"My dear Flutes!" Marisa greeted them. "It seems we go the same way. I enjoy the outdoors. Would you care to join our company?"

"And how do you know which way we head?" the Flutes laughed in return.

"How do you know my name?" Marisa countered.

"We know many things," another girl laughed. "Such is the nature of a Flute."

"Yeah?" Melissa piped up. "What can you tell us about Black Riders?" she asked.

Immediately their behavior changed, if only briefly; that seemed to be to Melissa's enjoyment. "It's best you come with us," they said at last. "You shall spend the night with us, if you will."

"We thank you," Marisa responded, slightly bowing. "Bcg ik ie os mop ty wk su ml, blessed indeed is our meeting that we should meet."

The Flutes rose in uproar. "Speak no secrets, friends," one Flute giggled. "This one knows the Tongue of Flute."

"And a clarinet at that!" another one exclaimed in delight. "Nick taught you well, girl." Mark gave a scowl to the ground, unbeknownst to Marisa, for his own native tongue was foreign to him.

"It is a long walk, my young musicians," the Flute who had greeted them said. "While you may tire, you will be closer to your destination.

"My name is Ier, daughter of Tiom and Oatoro." For many miles little was said. Melissa, tall as she was, easily matched many of the flutes, to their humor, and they spent much of the walk jumping and standing on their toes to beat her, much to her annoyance. Mark walked in awed wonder, gazing at those that walked beside him – though of appreciation for others of his instrument or because of his body's production of testosterone is of debate. Marisa fell drowsy through most of the trip and she needed to be jerked awake through much of the trip to escape falling.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marisa's head softly lolled on her neck, her eye's concentration only on keeping one foot ahead of the other. At the voice of one of the Flutes, she raised her head slightly and saw the trees part and the sky show through.

"We are here," Ier whispered. The rest of the night was spent with food, drink, and stories. Melissa and Mark couldn't understand the Fluten Tongue so they contented themselves to dinner with vigor, though Mark certainly watched in amazement, spellbound and speechless (which was rare for Mark Siermon) by the activities unfolding around him.

Marisa listened to the conversations, trying to decipher the language, and responded, in turn, to the Flutes who greeted her or served food. "Here is a jewel among clarinets!" they exclaimed, delighted by the prospect of one who was not their own knowing their Tongue.

As night pursued, Ier and Marisa engaged in talk as Melissa and Mark slept. After the long discussion, Marisa finally decided on the course of sleep and immediately passed into darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When Marisa opened her eyes, she immediately groaned and covered them as she was blinded. Sighing heavily, she sat up. For about five minutes she sat there, contemplating her next move. She collapsed back down. After turning around for about half an hour more, she sat back up. After ten minutes she gained the strength to open her eyes. She was lying in a very small cave. By some means moss or grass grew on every inch of its insides.

Sighing heavily again, she stepped out of the entrance. The Flutes had left. Melissa was the first to notice her. "The Flutes have left," Melissa told her, noting what Marisa already had, "though they left all this food."

Marisa sat down heavily, still drowsy. She picked up some food and began to chew it slowly, very much in thought. When Melissa realized her friend wasn't in a talking mood, she got up and began to walk around the clearing.

Mark was singing loudly and running around the clearing in wild circles and patterns which only he could have understood. He ran up to a tree, ran in circles around it, stopped, and curtseyed. He then ran to Melissa, who had been off to the side, trying to avoid him. He grabbed her hands, hitting a particularly high note, and started to swing around in circles. Trying to restrain her laughter and look annoyed, Melissa tried to break free, which only made Mark grasp her harder, widen his circles, and heighten his pitch.

"No…" Marisa thought sullenly. "I can't take them. The ring is mine and mine alone. To lead them to despair, hunger, even possibly death? I probably shouldn't even take Mark." Mark, having been amused enough (for Melissa's sake), sat down and tried to eat grapes by throwing them up in the air and catching them in his mouth.

Amused, Marisa started, "Mark?"

He stopped what he was doing to look at her, to which a grape fell on him soon after. He looked up in mock confusion before realization was birthed on his face and he refocused his attention on Marisa. "Yes?"

"I plan to leave as soon as we get to the house. Do you still plan on coming?"

"Well, only if you insist," he said pleasantly, knowing he was egging her.

"Well, I don't; I actually wish to go alone."

Mark stopped smiling at that. This wasn't the answer he had been expecting. He tore up a bit of grass and stuck a blade between his lips. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what I say," Marisa said evenly. "So I need to know what you wish."

Mark removed the blade and held it, looking at it. He rolled it between thumb and index finger, too stunned by her decision to say much. He looked up at her and there was no sparkle in his eye or crease on his face that suggested jest for once. "I wish to go with you," he stated, just as evenly.

Marisa, just as stunned at that point, responded in turn, "Is it the Flutes that convinced you? Do you wish to see more now?"

Mark shoved his blade into the ground, but it wouldn't go all the way. It bent at a forth of the way into the ground. "No," he said, looking uncomfortable, "it's not that."

While she tried to internally deny it, joy sprang up within her as she responded, "Well, then, I guess I'm stuck with you."

Mark smiled. "Oh, yes indeed," and placed a hand on her thigh. She laughed, smacked it away, and ran as Mark chased her, and then her and Melissa, around the clearing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What the fuck? I thought you knew which way we were going, Melissa!" Marisa exclaimed. Her back was aching, she felt she had fastened her belt a little too tightly, and she was swaying from the left to the right with fatigue. The group had trekked far, staying off the roads to avoid more Black Riders and to get to their destination quicker. Melissa, knowing the land better than Marisa and Mark combined, had directed their way.

"Don't yell at me!" she countered, just as battered. "I told you from the beginning it'd be a bad idea. There's no way to cut through anything in the Nyre without using a road and expect for it not to be difficult. Roads _were_ made for a reason."

Unable to come back with anything, Marisa just looked bitterly around. Then she stopped worrying about her current pain. "Wait, where are we?" she demanded quickly.

Melissa looked around. "Well, it seems we've landed ourselves in Farmer Crabs fields," she noted, taking in the surroundings.

Marisa grimaced. "I was afraid of that."

Both companions looked at her. "How come?" Mark asked.

Marisa slightly dug her foot in the ground. "Well, before Nick had adopted me, I used to cut through Farmer Crabs fields all the time and steal beets from his gardens. He caught me, several times, and finally took me to see his dogs and had them chase me off his property." She looked up at the corn around them and somewhat shuddered. "Just never liked the place since."

"Wait – you trespass onto someone else's yard, face possibly being mauled by dogs…for beets?" Marisa gave Melissa a look. "I'm just saying, there's corn, there's potatoes, there's carrots – you go for beets?"

"I happen to like beets," Marisa said stubbornly.

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Well, it may be good luck we came across here anyway. Farmer Crabs is on great terms with Henry and since I'm generally with him when he visits, he knows me as well. He's fairly agreeable, so long as you don't trespass," and she shot a look at Marisa. "Best we get on the road. I'll lead the way."

In a short time, they reached it and, soon, Farmer Crabs's place. The old percussionist came out from his house, bent over, mallets in hand and with dogs trailing him. "Who walks there?" he rasped, coming up close to musicians. He went in front of each, staring them close in the face, until he reached Melissa. He craned his head upward and then a toothless grin broke forth. "Melissa!" he cried. "I'm glad to see you, though I can say I wasn't expectin' it. What possibly brings you my way?"

"My friends here," Melissa laughed, "Mark Siermon and Marisa Ikon."

Marisa tensed at her name. Farmer Crabs turned to her, gave her a piercing look, and roughly ran his hand across his 5 o'clock shadow. He then smiled again and said, "Well, why are we waitin' out here? Let's get inside!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The room had an earthy smell to it, as did the farmer. Little kids ran around the room chasing and smacking each other with mallets and cymbals. One daring one was trying to make her brother submit with a triangle. Pictures lined the mantle, still visible though dusty. The sink overflowed with pots, pans, plates, and cups while Mrs. Crabs still ran around trying to get different small foods onto the table.

The trio and the farmer sat down and began to talk; well, that is to say, Melissa and Farmer Crabs did most of the talking. At a length, the old farmer turned to Marisa and said, "So! I see you still can't leave my place alone."

Marisa nearly dropped what she was eating in surprise.

"Ah, yes, I still remember. Most troublesome child in all o' Woodland. I have half a mind to extend tha' to all the East Building! But I remember'd the name. Some bloke came by here askin' for it. Peculiar fellow. He comes trespassin' on my land too!

"So this fellow, clad in black, comes clompin' his way to my house. Doesn't even _look_ like a musician, you know wha' I mean? So I'm wonderin' what business he poss'bly thinks he has in the Nyre. So he tells me he comes from the Wes' and points in tha' direction. Across _my_ fields too, mind'ou. Askin' for a Marisa Ikon. So I tell him you ain't in these parts – you reside in Instrumton – and tell him to ge'off my property, if he knew what was good for'im. He just_laughs_ and charges into _my_ fields ag'in!"

Farmer Crabs downed his beer and slammed the cup back down. "You bes' be goin', and soon, Ms. Ikon. And I'd be happy to get you there." He gave Marisa a straight look at that moment, which held no mistake in the seriousness of his intentions.

Astonished, Marisa stammered, "W-well, thank you Farmer Crabs. It'd be appreciated."

"Then let's head off soon," he stated, getting up and peering out the window. It was getting dark quickly. "Seems me and Melissa 'ere reminisced a bit too fondly and for too long."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

While Farmer Crabs drove the wagon down the path toward the ferry to cross the Brandystring River as the other three rested. All ears were straining for sounds and soon they heard the one they were dreading. "Hide under here," Melissa told Marisa quickly.

"Yes," Farmer Crabs echoed, slowing the wagon. "I'll greet 'em." The old farmer stepped out and waited as the sound of hooves approached. "'Ello there!" Farmer Crabs shouted out.

"Farmer Crabs?" the confused voice of Henry came back. As relief set it, the three musicians climbed out of the wagon.

"Henry? What are you doing here?" Marisa asked.

"Fred and I have been waiting for you and you haven't showed yet so I went looking for you."

"Well, we're here now." She turned to the farmer. "Thank you for the ride Farmer Crabs."

"It was my pleasure, my dear," he responded in kind. "But here's a little something before you go. From the Mrs." He handed her a basket and got upon his wagon; with a wave he headed off into the foggy night.

The trio got upon the ferry and headed off, at Marisa, Mark, and Melissa's urgings. As they crossed the river, Mark and Henry looked cautiously over the sides and pulled their cases closer to them. Having grown up in Woodland, Marisa was unfazed. She opened up the lid of the basket she had received and immediately the smell of beets rose to her nose. She looked up to see Melissa roll her eyes and mutter, "Of all the food there…."

In short time, they reached the house that Henry had picked out. After the travelers had bathed and cleaned themselves, the group sat down to dinner. While the rest talked and jested, Marisa for the most part sat there. In her pocket she turned the circular metal around in her fingers over and over again. Finally she sighed.

"She'll say something soon," Melissa whispered to Henry. He nodded.

"I have something to say," Marisa said unevenly, "but I'm not sure how to say it."

"Perhaps I could help," Henry put in, "by saying some of it myself."

"What?" Marisa asked, astonished.

"Well, you want to leave. But at the same time you don't," Fred put in. "It's made you miserable, no doubt."

"H-how?"

"Come now, Marisa; did you really think you could fool us all?" Melissa asked.

"I caught Nick using the ring one time," Henry explained. "The Saxville-Ikons were heading his way. So, he cusses, as usual, and slips his hand into his pocket. I was wondering where the Hell he went, so I hid as soon as I could. After they had passed, he reappears, flips the ring into the air, catches it, and puts it back in his pocket.

"So, I snuck into his house –"

"What?" Marisa interrupted, sitting upright.

Henry laughed, half embarrassed. "I was saying I snuck into his house and read in his book of his adventures. I'm probably the only one to have seen it in the entire Nyre besides you and him."

Marisa sat back, amazed. "I can't believe it."

"Well, naturally, Henry told the rest of us. And we've spied on you ever since," Fred continued. "We've been worried about you. You've seemed so harried in the past, Melissa –"

Marisa launched at that. "Excuse me? I'm _not_ Melissa."

"Yeah, you just wish," Melissa muttered.

"That would be you wishing, in that case," Marisa countered.

"Pardon me?" Melissa asked, getting up.

"I think you heard me," Marisa responded, getting up as well.

"Wait, wait, wait," Mark intervened, being the last to stand. "Melissa," he said to Marisa, "and Marisa," he said to Melissa, "can't we all just get along?" Melissa gave him a death stare as Marisa pretended to hit him. Mark screeched and ran for cover in mock terror.

"Well," interrupted an amused Henry, "it's settled then? Fred will stay behind to keep up the image of your stay here and Mark, Melissa, and I shall come along?"

Marisa looked at all her friends, their appearance ranging from waiting, triumphant, or, in the case of Mark who was still crouched behind the table, humored fear. She sighed heavily. "It seems you've left me no choice. How can I resist when you so easily fooled me?"

"Good to hear! I'm sure old George Oldwood would have been proud of you! Now, if you forgive my need, I say we sleep!" Mark declared, leaping up from his "hiding spot".

"In the morning we leave," Marisa added, to most everyone's discontent.

None of the others had objections to sleep though and they promptly headed to bed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was a pale morning, chilly. The sun was not visible and hardly could be felt. Trees swamped the mountain sides and ran into the valleys. Rivers sprung along the grassy hills and flowed to various places that an explorer would no doubt have enjoyed discovering.

Tall towers of white stone stretched to the sky, clearly of woodwind construction. Ornaments of metal decorated the halls, intricate and delicately made. Undoubtedly desired by anyone with artistic taste. And in the grand hall a cadence rang out, deafening in its roar against the stones.

In the main room, every instrument for band of imaginable kind sat, in democratic debate. The windy speech of Piccolos and every variant of Flute, Oboe, Clarinet, Bassoon, and Saxophone rang across the hall. Light cascaded against every Trumpet, Tuba, Trombone, French horn, and Baritone instrument that rested in trusted hands.

And in the middle of it all sat a trumpet valve ring, glinting in the emerging sun.

XXX

George Oldwood, of the Oldwood family (one of the oldest families in the Nyre, entirely Bass Oboe), was the founder of Woodland. He crossed the Brandystring River and built Wood Hall. From there he changed his name to Brandywood and spawned the Brandywood family. Now it is one of the oldest and most respected families in the Nyre, though thought of as odd by most of the West Building. They are the only musicians in the Nyre to take part in boating and a decent many of them have taken up swimming, despite being an entirely woodwind family.


	4. To Cree, Then Flight

**Chapter 4  
To Cree, Then Flight**

The midnight gangs assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night  
They'll meet neath that giant Exxon sign that brings this fair city light  
Man, there's an opera out on the turnpike  
There's a ballet being fought out in the alley  
Until the local cops, cherry tops, rips this holy night...  
-Bruce Springsteen

Marisa woke to the rough shoving of Henry. "Fuck…" she muttered groggily.

"Do you always have to cuss?" Henry asked incredulously.

She roughly smiled as she hoisted herself up. "Well, I _am_ Nick's niece."

The five friends assembled outside of the house, packs, sacks, and all. "We set then?" Marisa asked them each. They all nodded: some tersely, some tiredly.

Fog graced the ground as the sky slowly reddened in the early morning. No one was up, almost including the group. While their distance wasn't far, Mark decided it was the best idea to walk to the side of the road and catch some sleep before continuing on several times. Eventually, the group was able to predict these sudden insights and stop him from deviating from the path.

At last, the group reached the forest. "You're all crazy to enter there," Fred commented, repositioning the French horn he was holding. The others just smiled as they drifted into the woods.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It broke out, long and steady, upon the ground. Flowing, as if endlessly, it poured and poured. Contently, Marisa sighed as she watched its length. At last, sunlight had broken through the canopy down onto the floor below.

"Well, we find sunlight, but we're still stuck in this forest," Melissa observed.

"When does this place end?" Henry asked in distress.

"C'mon guys," Mark intervened. "We're in a forest. Enjoy the nature."

"It must have something to do with _wood_winds. A sensible Trumpet would work on getting out of this God-forsaken place," Melissa observed again.

Marisa walked off to the side. "It would be nice to find a way out," she muttered as she neared a tree. Suddenly, the bark on the tree shifted.

"Need a way out?" someone asked. Startled, Marisa jumped back.

"Um…wh-who is it?" she asked cautiously. Again, the bark seemed to rustle and a man emerged from the side of the bark, breaking a gaping hole in the tree side. "What the – what were you doing?" a flabbergasted Marisa exclaimed disbelievingly.

"Sleeping," the man said with a smile, as if it were very normal for people to suddenly emerge from trees. He had a graying beard about his face. He wore plain pants and shirt. Dusting himself off, he breathed heavily as he asked, "So you wish to get out of here? I can help you with that." He laughed gaily. "Call me Mr. Peters."

"Sir Peters –" Marisa started.

"Please: Mr. Peters," he corrected.

"_Mr._ Peters, can you show me and my companions the way out of here?" she asked.

Mr. Peters shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, should be able to." He started walking slowly in a direction. "Follow me," he told them as he trudged onward. The group soon learned that was his average speed.

They came to a mass of intertwined branches. "I thought it might be obvious, but there's probably something to be said about not following men who come randomly from trees," Melissa whispered to Marisa.

"Hmm, this is a problem," Mr. Peters muttered. "Pesky little things."

Marisa cleared her throat. "Um, what is it, Mr. Peters?"

He turned to her with a smile. "It's Nimnals. They're bugs which infect wood and can make the plant grow at what speed they wish and in what shape they wish. They've seemed to have blocked our exit." He turned back to the branches. "Okay, listen. Stop this right now. I want you guys to move these branches, understood?" He seemed to be trying to admonish the bugs but the smile never left his face.

Mr. Peters sighed. "It seems they want a pitch contest." Before anyone could ask what a pitch contest was, a loud noise echoed through the forest. "C♯," Mr. Peters answered, as if the question was nothing. Another noise emitted from the forest, though lower in sound this time. "G♭," he responded, again in the careless fashion. Then a horrendous sound erupted from the forest. "B, A♭, F♯, and D." For a moment, no sound was uttered. Then, groaning, the branches started to retract. Bending and twisting, twigs snapped and leaves rained onto the ground as the branches removed themselves.

Mr. Peters turned to the group. "There you go," he told them, still smiling. They thanked him and continued their way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, there it is: Cree." The four gazed down on the village ahead of them. Smoke drifted up from its small gathering. Single filed, they made their way down the hill towards Cree. As they walked the roads between the different establishments, they saw something that none of them were used to: Color Guard. Some in regular dress, others in their uniforms, some carrying flags, rifles, or other item, others not, they watched them pass. For a moment, none of them moved, unsure if someone of Color Guard would act differently from any other band member. When the passing girls (and rare boy) paid them no heed, they continued on their walk.

"So where do we head?" Melissa asked, ducking to avoid being hit by a flag and then tuba.

Marisa spotted _The Treble Inn and Pub_ across from them. She pointed. "Over there." Immediately noise greeted the group as they opened the door. It seemed that Cree was a crossing point for many instrument players. It was obvious many of the guests were foreign, with the addition of a ton of Color Guard.

Through the smoke, laughs, and curses, the four made their way unsteadily to the bar counter. "So, what do we do from here?" Henry asked.

"I don't know," Marisa responded. "Handal had only told me to meet him here. I guess we get a room and wait."

The bartender overheard her and came over. He was of heavy stature, with a rough beard about him. Marisa noticed that one of his eyes was missing on her left. "Looking for a room?" he asked, his voice hoarse. From the way his cheeks blew out, she could tell he played brass.

"Y-yes please." Marisa shook her head suddenly, embarrassed at the way her voice had come out and cleared her throat. "Yes," she responded more firmly.

The bartender pulled out a pad of paper. "Name, please?"

"Ms. Orificepiece," she responded. The brass player gave her a quizzical look which made her stomach flip. He then wrote it down and went on to the next customers.

Just as she was sighing, a cheerful "Hiya!" made her jump from her seat. She fell over and sprawled onto the floor, though to not much attention from anyone else. Turning around, she saw a Color Guard standing there in a green, yellow, and black uniform, holding a yellow flag beside her. Her hair was pale blond and she stood at average height.

Getting up and dusting dirt off herself, the girl apologized. "Just thought I'd say hello," she explained.

Marisa gave her a look, unsure how to respond.

"Is it so wrong to give a fellow Clarinet a hello?" she asked, sensing that Marisa was untrusting.

"Excuse me," she asked. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here: you're Color Guard."

"_And_ a Clarinet and Bass Clarinet, thank you," the girl responded curtly, though she didn't seem offended; it looked more like she was merely correcting.

Marisa glanced at Henry, Mark, and Melissa. "Well…thank you." She turned to sit back down. The girl sat down to the right of her.

"Name's Kyrstin; what's yours?" she asked as she waved down the bartender. She flashed a smile to Marisa.

"Um, Marisa." The minute she had said it, she wished she had given some other name. But it was just her first, so she wasn't too worried.

"Nice name," Kyrstin told Marisa as a drink was placed in front her; it was smoking from the top, so Marisa didn't bother to ask.

At that moment, the song _Big Poppa _by Notorious B.I.G. drifted through the other noises in the bar. Kyrstin giggled. "Seems Strider's here tonight," she told the four.

"Strider? Who's that and why do they call him that?" Mark asked.

Again Kyrstin laughed. "Why do they call him that? Take a look for yourself." They turned around to see a rather crowded table. In the middle of the bench sat a young man, who looked quite at home where he was. There was a score of drinks and plates of food on the table; to his left and right were women. He motioned over a waiter and said, "'Nother pink taco, scrambled eggs." The waiter gave him a look of confusion and told him they didn't serve that. "You know what? It's people like you that make this place unbearable," Strider told the waiter and dismissed him. Strider then settled himself a bit.

"Well, who is he?" Melissa was next to ask.

Kyrstin spun around on her chair. "No one knows," she told them. "He just comes by here often." Marisa glanced at Kyrstin's glass. It was half empty, about. Strider then noticed the group. He motioned for Marisa to approach. "Didn't think you were that type of girl," Kyrstin told her as she got up. Mark was amusing the other three.

When she got to the table, she looked unsteadily as Strider. "Yes?"

"New around here Marisa?" he asked; his voice was laid back, like most of his demeanor.

Marisa gasped. "How do you know my name?" she demanded.

Strider sighed contently as he scratched himself. "I didn't," he told her. "I'm supposed to find someone by that name so I've just been asking random people. You're the first person not to correct me." He swiftly grabbed a drink off of a waiter's tray without them noticing.

Marisa cursed her stupidity again. "Well," she asked slowly, "what do you want?"

Strider leaned in. "Do you have the valve ring?"

Marisa slowly nodded.

"Good," he told her, "Let's get out of here." But before any of them could move, they heard a scream rise up. Mark came pelting across the room straight at Strider. People dove out of the way as he charged forward. Strider gave Marisa a questioning look before he punched the approaching Mark in the gut, knocking him out cold. Strider bent down and threw Mark over his shoulder. "He was brave, but that won't help him. Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had taken Kyrstin with them. She had insisted on coming and Strider didn't seem to care. The sky was clear at their stakeout, though it was night. "Light a fire," Strider told them as he strolled off. Before he disappeared through the tall grass, he hoisted his pants extra low so that his underwear could show. "Like that baggage?" he asked them. "That's some high-quality baggage."

Mark was still unconscious, lying to the side. The rest of the group got to work on Strider's orders. After they got a decent fire going, the group sat around it. Kyrstin scooted closer to Melissa and asked, "So love, how're you doing?"

Melissa gave her a look and said, "Kinda creeped out right now. Mind getting away from me?" Kyrstin just laughed and stopped her pursuit.

There wasn't much else that was said other than the occasional stomach rumble. Strider still hadn't returned. Then Mark moaned.

The three quickly turned to him. "What's the matter Mark," Henry asked.

"C-cold…."

Marisa doubled over. She had lost control of her hands. Then her head. She heard screaming, but she didn't remember Henry being able to hit that high a note. Maybe his oboe, but not him. But then Henry was gone. There was really only one thing of any importance after all: the ring. That's what her hands were reaching for, she realized. That's why they tore at the inside of her jacket in a maddened frenzy. "Why are they trying to get to my pocket that way?" she wondered. She plainly knew it'd be easier to go from the outside, where there was at least a hole already. And her hands followed her orders, diligently, thankful for the advice. And then her world glowed.

Well, not really. But it got brighter. She looked up to see towering figures heading her way, glowing brightly orange and red. They seemed to be on fire. All of them held mallets of different kinds except for one which held cymbals. Marisa watched in amazement. She wondered why she didn't run. Normally, she would have. She was sure of that. But now, she didn't feel like it. When she thought about it, actually, why should she ever. They were amusing to look at, the way their colors radiated from them.

And then the silence was shattered. She screamed and covered her ears, but she couldn't block out the sound. Screeching, reeling, and piercing, it tore threw the night. The five figures let out cries of their own, though those were much more soothing to Marisa's ears. They quickly fled. She felt hands grab her own and she felt the ring yanked from her finger. Furious, she thrashed and bit the arms that held her. They released her, but the ring was off. Dazed, she tucked it in her pocket protectively.

Before she could fix herself she was hoisted up to her feet by the back of her shirt. "Ruac'r srq ëyc cz æbt!" Strider yelled to a rider on horseback. Even now, while he no longer looked relaxed, stress or worry never seemed to permeate his facial expressions. The rider pulled Marisa onto the horse roughly. "Fgos'lkac'r hzë," he told Strider before taking off.

The trees blurred past, a mass of green and brown. Marisa didn't bother to try to hold on, so her new companion had the task of directing the horse as well as keeping her from falling over.

He seemed to charge forward with unnecessary speed. There was no one Marisa could see that was pursuing them.

That was quickly corrected. Marisa heard the horse snort and try to veer course. The rider grasped the reins more tightly and gave the horse a swift kick to quicken its pace. He kept muttering in the strange language that she had heard Strider utter. Yet she felt she had heard it before. Drowsiness sunk in. She started to close her eyes before another rough yank at the reins brought her back.

From the side she saw a tall figure come forth. He was dressed in black, his entire body clothed in flowing material. In his hands were mallets whose wood was decaying.

The rider pulled a cornet from a pouch at the side of his horse. Unaware of it, Marisa tried to pull her ring out before the rider pulled her hand away from it. He put the cornet to his mouth and gave it three long blows. The trees started to thin and a river emerged.

As the horse pounded closer, the rider grew worrisome. "Slepak, eiÿ kjût," he muttered as he drove the horse harder. Four black figures rode behind them, their horses slowly gaining.

In a splash of water and gravel, the rider's horse tore across the river onto the other side. He swiftly turned the horse around to watch the approaching riders. "Mòn," was the only other word he spoke.

Just as the first black hoof touched the water, a rumble spewed from the mountain sides. From around the bend, Beethoven's _Fifth Symphony_ boomed over the horses and sounds of water, closely followed by a flood of water in the shape of instruments. They tumbled down upon each other, getting dented or shattered as the ones after came to take their place. On the 4th note, the riders and water made contact, being rushed away. The rider exhaled slowly as Marisa drifted off to sleep.

XXX

Translations and Pronunciations (letter by letter):

Ruac'r srq ëyc cz æbt! – Take her away from here!

Pronunciation: root-yedt-armch-wert-root ruvlo-root-rast klirt-dar-wert wert-erk nermf-ber-yung

Fgos'lkac'r hzë. – Make haste quickly.

Pronunciation: noff-hargl-hemp-ruvlo-orcal-iglo-armch-wert-root breev-erk-herg

Slepak, eiÿ kjût. – Slepak, help me.

Pronunciation: Slepak, klirt-brak-mel iglo-horf-wart-yung

Mòn. – Please.

Pronunciation: orzk-morak-emf


	5. The Juggernauts

**_Note:_** The font for the Fluten tongue does not show up here. For original documents and font, E-mail and request. Later Chapters have illistrations. Again, E-mail me and request.

**Chapter 5  
The Juggernauts**

Take some Big and some Pac and you mix 'em up in a pot  
Sprinkle a little Big L inside, what the fuck do you got?  
You got the realest and illest killas, tied up in a knot  
The juggernauts of this rap shit, like it or not  
-Eminem

Rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway. There weren't any other people around, so the flushed face and worried expression was given no concern. Only the reeling mind of the individual gave any care to the state of the body, though that was to a minimal.

"I'm late, I'm late…," she muttered insistently, stopping herself at the end from falling into the catch phrase from _Alice In Wonderland_. "Why?" was the last of her thoughts before she rounded a corner.

The tips of her white, unzipped sweatshirt lightly fanned in the wind. Had she took the time to look at them, she might have taken interest in the designs of green and, as they neared the zipper, orange, yellow, and purple of plants and leaves as they slightly furled. However, her eyes were on the floor and her mind on her current dilemma. She tugged her red shirt down as she pelted down a flight of steps, nearly colliding with a passing Trumpet carrying a girl.

"Sorry!" she shouted, barely turning her head to look back as she rounded yet another corner.

She glanced down at her shoes, lace-less and an array of colors that would have made the biggest 'shroom addict melt with joy. They shuffled beneath her in a blur, slaves to her feet's necessity.

Another corner caught her hand in the turn. "Shhh – oot!" she exclaimed, to the surprise of some Flutes standing by. She gave a nervous smile and wrung her right hand with her left, hoping to numb it quickly.

"Oh, why didn't you stay on top of this?" she muttered as she went down another flight of stairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where is she? We gave her a time, didn't we? Show up _on time_. That's what I remember writing," he elaborated in distress, pacing back and forth. Light from the window filtered through his curly brown hair. Even in anxiety, he seemed good humored, though the strain of the moment was evident. "C'mon, it's not like she's a Trumpet, now is it? She's a Woodwind, last I checked. _We're_ actually responsible!"

"She's a flute," corrected a boy lying on some stone that jutted out of the wall, as if to make a seat. "She probably got distracted by something and is just realizing she ought to be here right as we speak." His hair was brown too, though darker in shade, as his skin complexion was as well. An unkempt beard, never shaved, and puffy sideburns grew along the sides of his face. He wore simple gym shoes, jeans, and an Ozzy Osbourne t-shirt, along with a cap. He lifted it slightly to look to his left. There, a girl in a pink North Face jacket was bouncing up and down and dancing randomly. Upon noticing the boy's stare, she turned to him in another dance-like move, asking, "Yes?"

"Oh, nothing. Just acknowledging the show."

The curly haired one turned in frustration. Like the others, he too wore simple pants and gym shoes. However, he wore a solid colored t-shirt and blue jacket as well. "Agh!" he exclaimed, half laughing. "Where is she?" At that moment a girl entered the room, exclaimed, "Mike!" and went over and hugged him. The boy sitting down looked at Mike incredulously, asking, "Where do they come from?"

Mike shook his head, cracking up himself. "I don't know…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The girl tugged the edges of her white sweatshirt back down again. She pulled the zipper down slightly, to allow a slight bit more room around her neck.

"Where is she?" she muttered as she watched her brown shoes pass below her. She noted that one of the laces was too loose, as it made a sound echo down the long hallway as it hit her shoe in every step, but didn't see the time to stop and fix it. She shoved her hands into her blue jean pockets and removed them. She then brushed her hair back behind her shoulders; though it was past shoulder-length, it kept falling in front as she walked.

"Be on time. That's all we asked. Could she do that?" At the end of the hall she encountered a broad door. Carved in the polished, white wood was the depiction of many instruments. In artistic fashion, a timeline of history described the many years of Band. At the way top, letters from the Tongue of Clarinet stretched just below the archway. By memory, the girl knew what they stated: "In harmony and melody, united, we stand." She didn't know how to speak the Tongue; no clarinet did anymore. Sighing, she pushed the doors open.

"Is Laura here yet?" she asked the bearded one.

"Not since you left Chelsea. My vote's she got lost," he answered, slumping downward and tugging his cap lower.

A slight smile broke the otherwise worried expression as she responded, "Yes, I can believe that." She bent down to tie her shoe and the previous expression returned.

The girl in the North Face took out a pack of Starbursts from her jacket and started to open the wrapper. The boy lifted his cap again. "I really don't think those are the best idea," he told her.

"Why?" she asked innocently. She then noticed Chelsea standing up, glancing out the window at the sun. "You look so stressed Chelsea. You need to relax. I've got just the thing." She got up and started to approach Chelsea.

Again a smile broke as Chelsea backed away. "No, that's okay Tori. I'm pretty sure I'm fine as I am," she told her as she backed behind a chair.

"Oh, but I disagree," Victoria laughed coyly as she neared the retreating Chelsea.

Before any serious de-stressing could take place, the door was opened again by two Flutes, one female and the other male. "Is Laura here yet?" the female one asked. She wore an orange shirt, an orange and white-stripped skirt, and orange and black arm warmers.

"No," Chelsea told her. She then added absentmindedly, "Leave it to a Flute."

A look of indignation crossed the Flute's face. "Excuse me?" she asked heatedly, setting her case on the table.

"She'd kick _your_ ass, Kristi. I wouldn't try," a lazily snide remark came from the stone "bench" along the wall. A look of worry flashed across Victoria face as both Kristina and the male flute turned toward that direction. Kristina took a step forward before being stopped by the other.

"Please, Kristi, let me handle this one," he said in a pleasant manner that clearly conveyed he knew what he was doing. He turned to the boy.

"Yes Joe?" the boy asked pleasantly, giving a feigned – and unconcerned – smile.

"Jon – while I would purely enjoy you being ripped apart by Kristi here (and trust me, you'd be dead), I feel that your kind is just too low to possibly be bothered with. Especially a Clarinet like _you_." He rounded off his declaration with a high pitched, "Fuck you."

Jonathan laughed, but before he could reply Mike cut in with, "Enough! Geez, what are you guys? Brass? Even a Tuba isn't _this_ immature. So Laura's a tad bit late. I'm sure she has a perfectly good reason for it."

"Oh, Mikey, you're so mature!" the girl around his neck exclaimed.

Jonathan cocked his eyebrows at him and flashed Mike a thumbs up. The double doors opened once again at that moment with the flushed face of Laura in addition. "You're –" Chelsea, Mike, and Jonathan started before Laura cut in with,

"I know! I know. It took longer than expected," she immediately defended. "I've got the information."

"What is it?" Joe asked as he pulled a chair away from the table and took a seat.

Laura took a second to catch her breath. She leaned back against a wall as all eyes looked expectantly at her. She swallowed before continuing onward. "It seems that the rumors are right. The Dark Tower has been rebuilt in Miseri."

Voices immediately erupted, to Laura's dislike. "Hey, guys! Quiet down!" Joe shouted over the noise. "Laura isn't finished."

Laura smiled briefly, saying, "Thank you Joe." She then cleared her throat. "I happened to get a word with Handal as well." If news of Miseri had gotten the group's attention, the wizard certainly kept it. "It seems that the One Valve has been found as well.

All voices were silent. Any trace of distinct personality was gone. Their current expressions were all the same. Sensing that she had her audience's attention, Laura still continued.

"He says that there will be a council headed by Mr. Slepak and himself about the valve ring, its future, and how ours relate. Those are his words exactly." Still, no one dared to say anything.

"He also wants people to start thinking about whether they might want to help destroy the ring." Kristina started to say something then before Jonathan cut her off.

"Don't bother," he sighed as he got up to leave. "After Laura's performance today, I'd hardly trust the fate of Band in another Flute's hands."

Kristina shot him the nastiest look she could. She glanced towards Mike, who gave her an apologetic glance.

Laura shook her head before finishing off. "It seems that Matt Martini has brought the possessor of the One Valve back safely. Once she wakes up and regains her strength, the council will begin."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun couldn't be seen anymore. Thunder boomed loudly as the four band members stood outside, under the out-jutting roof connected to one of the buildings. Leaning against the wall, Jonathan asked, "So, what do you guys make of it all?"

The other two didn't respond for a moment. The third one had ran out into the rain. Nothing could be heard but the pouring of precipitation. Chelsea glanced out at the rain. "End of the world is coming and it happens to be pouring during the conversation. How fitting," she noted. "What can we do? We'll just have to wait until the council to see what happens."

"We might have to actually work together," Jonathan remarked. "Geez, I haven't worked beside a Piccolo since the Battle of the Five Instruments."

"You were there?" Mike asked.

Jonathan scratched the top of his head, averring, "Yeah, it's how I met Chelsea. We both had led the Clarinet 5th division. When I had arrived, Chelsea hadn't heard I was to head it with her and she thought I was trying to take control of her division."

She laughed out loud at the memory. "Oh yeah. Didn't I tell you to get in line or I'd send you home?"

Jonathan chuckled as well. "Something like that. You're generally calm Chels but when you want to take charge…watch out."

"Well, it _was_ my division. I wasn't going to have someone from my ranks just take over."

He nodded. "True. So we ended up camping out in the Derreldell Marshes a couple of nights. Worst war I'd ever seen."

Chelsea just nodded.

"Well, as you had said, we'll have to be more united as a band," Mike noted. Again there was silence. But it was BAD.

"Think we could even do that?" Jonathan was next to ask.

"Well, I have no problem with the Flutes. That seems to be your guys' problem," Mike told them. "But if I'm asked to fight beside a Trumpet…" He shook his head several times. "No."

Chelsea sighed, pushing back some of her hair. "Well, I'd rather a Flute than a Trumpet as well. But nonetheless, they're way too hyper."

"Ys, but you can be crazy as well, Chels," Jonathan noted.

"Yeah, every blue moon," Chelsea retorted. This drew laughter from everyone still dry. Victoria came back under the roof at the moment, soaked.

"What're we talking about?" she asked breathlessly.

Chelsea partly smiled. "The One Valve, unfortunately."

"Oh. What about it?" What tension had been persistent on staying dissipated at that moment.

"What'll come will come, right?" Jonathan asked the group.

"Exactly," Victoria responded.

"Land of Shadows?" he asked in a non-worried fashion.

"Sex!" Victoria promptly replied.

Mike laughed. "Yes, _that's_ the spirit," he added in half sarcasm.

As the laughter subdued though a more serious look came over Victoria. "Well, we know something's going to go down, right?" she asked them. They silently showed signs of agreement. "No matter what, we'll stick together. We're woodwinds. And no matter what, we stick together."

Everyone in the group nodded. "We might not always get along, but in the end, we know who we are."

"Exactly," Mike agreed. After a few more seconds of silence, they decided to take out their instruments and play a quartet.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two vast doors appeared in vision. They rose to great length with many engravings upon it. Written across the top, just beneath the archway were many Tongues all saying the same thing, though many of them had become archaic and were no longer used. They read, "Of all that resides on this planet, who can contest a more worthwhile endeavor and art than Band?"

The doors then opened. Inside lay a dome-roofed room, entirely of white stone. A hole was at the top, so that sunlight may find a way in.

A trumpet stood at the middle of the room, beside a stone pedestal on which rested a trumpet valve ring.

"My dear friends and, may I dare to say, brethren. Gildor here would have you believe that just because he cut the ring from the fingers of Rowell, he deserves ownership of this ring." The Trumpet turned to face the other half of the congregation. "This is not and cannot be so. We must cast this metal back into the flames which forged it."

Gildor stood at that moment, defiant. "And was it you who cut the ring, Slepak? Was it your bravery that charged forth at just the right time and need? I think not. I _proved _my ownership. You simply want to talk your way into yours."

"I wouldn't take this ring no matter what it could give me," he responded, his gaze set evenly on Gildor. "If I could, I'd destroy it right as we speak."

"Are we to believe this?" Gildor declared, walking away from his seat to the middle. The other instruments watched with bated breath. "Are we to believe you would do such a thing, just by your word?" He sneered at the Trumpet. "Leave it to a Brass to proclaim such a ridiculous notion."

Immediately uproar filled the room. Some instruments stood up as they defended themselves and their kind or quarreled. Over the shouting, Gildor could be heard. But the replies rang louder.

"Under what banner do you plan to ride? Alone? With your own company? Or with your instrument? Do you think the ring won't ensnare you? You_ control_ your furniture, which means casting the curse back into the fire! Actû ut olac oòm qew, tëfac òn!"

XXX

Notes:

Ys – Yes

Pronunciation: keeba

Actû ut olac oòm qew, tëfac òn! – If you listen to reason, destroy it!

Pronunciation: armch-wert-yung-wart yedt-yung hemp-orcal-armch-wert hemp-morak-orzk rast-klirt-vrek yung-herg-noff-armch-wert morak-emf

Every instrument had their own language or dialect of one at some point. But as the current Common Tongue became more widely used, many of these ancient languages fell out of use and were forgotten. Many have been recovered for scholarly reasons but they are no longer used. The only surviving Tongues of the Old Tongues are that of Flutes and Brass. Due to the extinction of the Clarinet and Saxophone Tongue, many woodwinds outside of Flutes (though not always common) will use the Flute language as well in communities and so that Brass or Percussion may not know what is being discussed (just as a Brass might speak in his native language so as to not be overheard by a Woodwind). Despite the long standing rivalry between Flutes and Clarinets, many Clarinets use Fluten, though to many Clarinets' (even the users') disdain.


	6. Reality VS Ideal

**Chapter 6  
Reality VS. Ideal**

I live in truth, complacently  
Where's the threat you see in me?  
Am I the cause of your self-consciousness?  
You scream at me...  
'Cause my life's contrary to yours  
No soft words from my mouth  
A glazed look in your eyes  
I live in the world of reality; you comfort yourself with lies  
-A.F.I.

"Actû ut olac oòm qew, tëfac òn!" she screamed, bolting upward in the bed. Her eyes whipped around the room in a frenzy, frantically searching for something. In the next instant, they hazed over as she slumped back into bed, curling into a partial fetal position.

"Isn't that Brassish?" Laura asked Handal, giving a worried glance at the old wizard.

He sighed, nodding his head. He pulled a pipe from his cloak and stuck it into his mouth. "Been using this too much," he muttered. Then louder, so Laura could hear him, he added, "It is. It's a rather famous phrase among the Brass, used by our very own Mr. Slepak. Of course, this was before he had become a band director and was still into the politics of the whole thing." Handal inhaled deeply, and then released several large smoke rings. "It was said at the first Great Council, at this very place. I remember it well."

Laura nodded without a word. Both individuals looked at the resting Marisa. Handal sighed again and sat down back in his chair. The smoke curled upwards from his mouth, entwining in his beard and head hair as it had in Reed End the many months ago. "It's going to be dangerous Laura," he told her. "I fear for her, for all of them." To the side, a groan was heard.

Both heads turned to see Michelle waking. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up. "So, anything happen?" she asked sleepily as she picked her flute case off of the ground.

Laura gave a comforting smile of amusement as she responded, "No, not yet Michelle."

Michelle got up and went closer to the bed. She lifted her flute case casually as she stated, "I say we ought to just wake her up. She's just a Clarinet, after all."

Laura laughed as Handal leaped up, staff in hand. "That would be ill-advised," he told her.

Michelle lowered her case, brushing Handal off with, "Oh, I'm just kidding." She went back to her seat and sat back down.

At that moment the door opened and Victoria stuck her head in the room. She pushed her black glasses back up as she looked around. Michelle shook her head as she sighed, "Another Clarinet…."

"Sorry to interrupt, but have you guys seen Jon? I'm really horny." The two Flutes gave a look of disgust as Handal shook his head, slightly chuckling. "Handal!" Victoria exclaimed, noticing the wizard. "I didn't know you were back. I always have time to make an old man happy," she giggled.

Handal in turn responded, "While I'd usually play along Victoria, there seems to be pressing matters at the moment."

"Oh, okay," she said in disappointment, closing the door again as she left.

Michelle shuddered as soon as the latch shut, remarking, "Finally she's gone."

The others looked at her. "Why? What's the matter?" Laura asked.

"Victoria," Michelle explained. "I can't stand her. I mean, she's _always_ making sick comments and can't ever seem to control herself."

Handal shrugged. "It's only in jest. And there's far more to a person than meets the eye. I say that all the time to you two."

Michelle shook her head in distress. "Nonetheless, I wouldn't be caught dead in the same room as that girl. I'll never stand her."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Contempt: this was the only word Emily could ever find in continuous use when describing a Trumpet. Either that or pompous. Maybe add conceited and egotistical to that list as well.

She sighed and tried again. "I'm just saying, if you controlled your tone more, you might not drill out our ears," she told the Band members in front of her. They all laughed.

"Shut up, French horn," Matt Gomez responded, getting a high five from his two friends.

Emily groaned and stomped off. While normally with a smile, it was a scowl that replaced the vacancy on her face as she pushed open doors to get to the other end of Rendellin. Had her red hair not been tied back, she would've been too preoccupied with removing it, she noted, along with a just arriving Saxophone wearing a green Mario Mushroom shirt and a brown coat that looked as if it ought to be placed on a hobo. She groaned in disgust. "First Trumpets, now Saxes. What else could go wrong today?"

She went down a flight of stairs and entered a circular room. Likewise, a circular, wooden table sat there with chairs adorning it. Emily pulled out a chair and sat down. She immediately pulled her French horn up and began to play. Thirty minutes passed without any interruption when Joe entered the room.

Emily placed her instrument down and greeted him. "Hey Emily," Joe responded, taking a seat. "What's up?"

"You _don't_ want to know. You?

"Stupid Clarinets," he told her, setting his case on the table. "Jon was being pompous again. Like most Clarinets."

"Is that so? I don't mind him," she responded.

"Yeah, coming from the girl who associates with Low Brass," Joe scoffed. This got him a slight look from Emily. "He insulted Kristi and things escalated from there. You know how those things go."

"I suppose. I don't think I'll ever understand why you guys have such a hatred for each other."

"And I won't ever understand why you hate the Saxophones. Jennings is _hilarious_, by all accounts," Joe told her, laughing.

"Somehow he never seems to strike me as that when he's annoying the Hell out of me," Emily muttered.

At that moment a Trumpet stuck his head around the corner. "Have you guys seen Slepak?" he asked in a breathless voice, though nothing else about him expressed being hurried (even his tone).

"Sorry Matt; haven't seen him," Joe told the Trumpet.

"Alright, thanks Joe," Matt responded. "Heard any news on the girl I brought in yesterday. I think her name's Marisa or Melissa, something like that."

"She's a Clarinet. I take no interest in associating with them," Joe responded calmly, trying not to smile. Emily simply rolled her eyes.

Matt half smiled as well. "Yeah, well she might be the key to our survival so you better start getting used to them." He brushed his somewhat long, brown hair away before finishing with, "The council begins soon as she wakes. I expect to see you both there."

"Yes, drum major, sir," Joe responded stoutly with a mock salute. Matt flicked him off before leaving.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Mike, why don't you hang out with other Saxes like a regular Saxophone?" Victoria asked as she leaned against the stone wall.

Mike was going over old records in the library of Rendellin, searching for information on the upcoming war. "Two reasons," he slowly responded as he sifted through the scrolls and sheets of paper. He picked up a magnifying glass as he blew away some dust. "One is that there aren't many Saxes here to begin with. And two ties into the first: some just have a little too much Brass in them for my taste."

Victoria started to cough, muttering, "David!" in-between. Mike just laughed and shook his head, not bothering to comment.

"I can't see the constellations over the southern end of the sky tonight. Miseri lies out there," Chelsea absentmindedly commented from her seat by the window.

"Aren't Flutes supposed to be the experts in sky-reading?" Mike asked over his copy of the scroll _The Woodwind and Percussion Era_. He placed it to the side and picked up the book _The Diversity of the Brass Family_. He flipped through the Trumpets, Baritones, Tubas, and Trombones before moving onto something else.

Chelsea turned away from the sky and laughed. "I don't actually believe in that stuff. I took it up at a hobby." She turned to Victoria and asked, "Did you see where I put my iPod?" Victoria looked up and shook her head almost in pouting. Chelsea sighed and mumbled, "Thing doesn't even work anyway."

Suddenly Mike jumped up. "Hey, guys, come over here." Both Bass Clarinets approached him.

"What is it Mike," Chelsea asked. All three of them looked down at Fluten script upon a long scroll.

"It's notes from the first Great Council that was held here," he told them, looking further down at the scroll.

"So there actually was a Council that was held here?" Chelsea asked. "I thought that thing was just a legend."

Emily appeared in the door way at that moment, said, "Hi," spotted Mike, clenched her fists, and then muttered, "I'll come back later…" as she left the room stiffly.

Mike just stared for a moment before shaking his head and saying, "That was weird." He returned back to Chelsea's question.

"That's what I had though with the One Valve but that seems to be very real. As legend says, it says here that the Council was held to debate the future of the ring."

"Wait, what future?" Victoria asked as she fixed her glasses.

Mike looked over the scroll quickly. "After it had been cut off Rowell's hand, Gildor had wanted to claim it for his own."

"Right, we know all of that part of the story from legend," Chelsea said. "What's new about this? What don't we know?"

Mike scanned farther down the paper. "It mentions something about a heir," he muttered. "It says that after Gildor died his linage continued. The final and current heir forswore the thrown. It doesn't name him but the one who could claim king of all of Band and unite us all gave up that ability. That's why the Band Kingdom is kingless."

No one spoke for a moment, before Chelsea stated, "I wonder who the heir is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Strider reached down slowly and sighed contently as he scratched himself. Melissa just gave a look of disgust. The group had walked insistently since they had left Cree. They hadn't stopped to rest, at Strider's orders. As they passed through the woods that bordered Cree, they left the Nyre.

As they walked, Melissa stared around at the trees and animals, taking them in. Mark just kind of walked onward, with no doubt just trying to think of some way to act up. Marisa and Henry walked side by side, talking as they went. Kyrstin was humming to herself as she tossed her flag in the air, practicing and reviewing a routine. Strider just trudged along, adjusting his falling pants every few steps.

As the group passed over a hill, they all screamed or gasped. Strider was the only one to stand nonchalantly at the scene ahead of them. "Die, fiends!" Kyrstin screamed as she jumped forward and slammed her flag's pole into one of the figures, breaking off its arm. Stunned, she backed away slightly, shocked at the result.

Strider made his way down the hill. "You seem to have forgotten Nick's adventures," he told them, picking up the arm to look at it. "Doesn't this place look familiar?"

Marisa cast her eyes around at the scene. "I remember it now," she remarked slowly. "This is where Nick ran into the three cheerleaders."

Melissa made her way down as well. "Instead of stealing from them, like he was supposed to, he tried to flirt with them, didn't he? Smart move on his part."

Kyrstin poked one of the heads with the tip of her flag's pole. "Ah, of course. Who's ever heard of a cheerleader out in the sunlight? The elements are bad for their complexion. That's why they're stone." She looked at another and shuddered.

Mark went up to one. He gave the group a smile that gave the impression of one who's confessing a guilty pleasure yet takes no remorse in the action. "I dunno. Some of 'em are kinda hot," and he made an obscene motion.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marisa shuddered, tossing beneath her blankets. Handal watched her, amused, smoking heavily from his pipe. A score of other bandies were in the room as well, waiting for Marisa to wake. Of that score, Henry, Mark, and Kyrstin were included. Suddenly the door burst open, with Jonathan right behind. "Handal! What's this I heard about Laura being sent on a mission?"

Handal turned to him, squinted for a second, then laughed merrily. "Oh, just a mission to get information about the ring for the Council. She won't be gone long."

"Are you kidding me? Laura could even deliver _us_ information on time in Rendellin. And now you're expecting her to get information _from somewhere else_ back to here before this girl wakes up?" Jonathan asked incredulously.

Handal teetered on his chair as he answered, "Oh, she'll be fine. I sent Chelsea and that new girl Melissa with her." Handal's eyes bulged as he nearly fell off.

Jonathan had been facing Marisa, but whipped around at that. "You sent Chelsea with her? Are you mad? They can't stand each other!" He grabbed his hair but then stopped. "Wait, isn't Melissa a Trumpet?"

Handal was smiling pleasantly, starring hazily outward at nothing. Not changing his facial expression, he answered, "Yes."

Not a word was spoken. Slowly, Jonathan asked, "You sent a Trumpet, Flute, and Clarinet out on a mission together?"

Handal nodded vigorously and with eagerness.

"Holy shit! What the Hell is wrong with you? They'll _kill_ each other before they even _get_ there!" He threw his hands up in the air and started to pace in a frenzy.

"Oh, nonsense. I can see them getting along very well together," Handal answered assuredly, which didn't mean much in his current state.

"Yeah, in another life maybe. I'm sure they'd all be best friends," Jonathan muttered sarcastically.

Handal just smiled broadly. "See? They'll be fine and so will the rest of Band."

"Yeah, and I'll actually shave one day," Jonathan responded bitterly. "Where the fuck is David? I told that stupid Sax he shouldn't lace Handal's herbs," he said to himself as he left the room.

But Handal didn't notice: he was staring at some spot on the ceiling, smiling to himself, as he tried to remember the last time he thought about shaving.


	7. The Council of Slepak Part 1

**Chapter 7  
The Council of Slepak Part 1**

Peanut butter Reece's Cup  
Sing this song to cheer you up  
Bang, bang, choo-choo train  
Come on [insert name, do your thing!

I can't!

Why not?

I just can't!

Why not?

Because my back is aching  
My belt's too tight  
My booty's shaking from the left to the right!

To the left, to the right  
To the left to the right to the left to the right  
Peanut butter Reece's Cup...  
-Traditional Clarinet and Flute Traveling Song

Sound erupted in the dome-topped meeting hall. Fluten, Brassish, and the Common Tongue cascaded around as musicians tried to find a place to sit, at times bickering with each other in the process. Marisa put a hand to her head as she looked around the room.

"Where did you say that Melissa went again? I think I miss a sane voice already," she noted tiredly.

"Even if a horrendously sarcastic one?" Mark asked slyly.

Marisa smiled slightly. "Yes," she answered.

"Marisa!" a voice boomed over the others. Marisa turned to see the towering figure of Handal approaching her. Her slight-smile broke into a full one.

"Yes?" she asked the approaching wizard.

"Forgive me for not being there when you woke, but it seemed someone had laced pot into my usual herbs. I've been asleep myself for the past few hours," he explained to her.

Marisa gave him a questioning look. "How did they do that?"

"I don't know, but when I find the culprit –" He then broke into a more pleasant facial expression. "Anyway, I'm glad you're awake."

"Yes, though I do have some questions."

"I shall answer if I can."

"What happened before I got here?" she asked uncertainly.

Handal's face clouded over before he remembered. "Ah, well, our Matt Martini brought you here by horseback against five Valvewraiths. Upon crossing the river into Rendellin, Mr. Slepak was signaled to send a flood to wash the Wraiths away. The instrument shapes were my idea," he added proudly. He then quickly looked around. "Ah, this place is a mess! Excuse me while I try to instill some form of order," he told her as he took off to do what he could with the commotion.

Halfway through the sea of people, Handal turned back and shouted, "Mark, Henry, and Melissa already informed me on what had happened, but, if you wish to tell me yourself, we shall do so later!"

Marisa turned around the room and saw three empty chairs. With little hesitation, she seized them and promptly sat down. She turned to her companions then and asked, "How long have I been sleeping?"

"Four nights and three days," Henry told her. "We were worried you might not wake up at all."

"What had happened?"

"We don't really know," Mark started to explain. "It was like you just vanished. At first I thought I'd finally gotten rid of you but then those black figures appeared again. They started to approach to the spot you had been when Strider burst in over one of the hedges playing on his clarinet one of the worst Train Wrecks _I've_ ever heard. The figures screech their heads off and flee. Next thing I know, Strider's wrestling with the air and you reappear beneath him, before he jumps away."

Vaguely, the memory came back to her. "Okay," she said slowly. She cast her eyes around the room. There were many instruments present.

Henry caught her glance and said, "Band members have been appearing from all over the past couple of days. While there's usually many housed here, it's more than tripled thus far."

Marisa gave a faint smile and asked, "For me?"

"Of course," Mark assured her, a smile of his own to match hers.

Suddenly and abruptly, a French horn turned around in his seat ahead of the trio. He had a flowing red beard, though it was turning white. He was fairly dressed, in white garments and a silver belt. "Welcome and well met!" he exclaimed to Marisa. He rose and then bowed to each in turn. "Därmel at your service," he explained and bowed lower still.

Surprised, Marisa nonetheless rose promptly and bowed as well. "Marisa Ikon at your service and your family's. But tell me: am I right in that you are _the_ Därmel, one of the twelve that departed with Vrekernt Morakruvlobreev?"

"Indeed," the French horn responded. "I'm surprised you pronounce our language so well."

"Ah, well, I've heard the name many times, in legends and otherwise."

"Well, I need not ask your linage. You are the kinsman and adopted heir of our friend Nick the renowned. I am glad to find that you have recuperated," Därmel assured her.

"I thank you. Though I cannot help but wonder: what possibly brings a Brass such as yourself from the Stoic Mountains?" Marisa inquired.

Därmel cast a quick eye around before responding. "If you have not heard, then perhaps such things should be left until the Council starts. However, if you crave of news outside of that, I can supply. I'm sure you would like to know what has happened in recent days of such tales of legend."

From Därmel, Marisa learned that many of the companions of Vrekernt had spawned their own offspring and that they had done well and flourished. It was due to some of them that the lands in the northern regions of Melterland were held safe. In the land between the Mountains and Soilwood, neither orch nor other animal servant dared to pass.

"Still, Brass and Woodwinds do not get along and I worry at times that some disruption of our own allies will cease such defense," Därmel confided. "Yet the Flutes of Soilwood are not your average Flutes and luckily not the ones of Hazenree. Otherwise peace would be all but realistic. And thankfully Pard's descendants of Ezgarnth are still friendly with us. Since the Battle of the Five Instruments, the Ezgarnthians have been great allies of the Brass of the Stoic Mountains. The grandson of Pard the Bowman rules them, Crand son of Zain son of Pard. He is a strong king and his realm now reaches far south and east of Ezgarnth."

"And what of your own people?" Marisa asked eagerly.

"Ah, we do much. Had we more time, I might tell you all but I feel the Council may start before hand. Ah, but you ought to see the waterworks and road that we have paved, Marisa! I confess that it is only in building and mining that we have surpassed the old days, but you would love to see them." A look of sentiment came over Därmel's face as he envisioned the sight.

Marisa laughed and noted, "I will come and see them, if ever I can. How surprised Nick would have been to see all the changes!"

Därmel look at Marisa and smiled. "You were very fond of Nick, weren't you?" he asked.

Marisa stopped, as if caught off guard. But after a second she answered slowly, "Yes. I'd rather see him than all the towers and palaces in the world."

"Aw, you're not about to get sentimental on me, are you?" a familiar lackadaisical voice drifted through the other noises.

Marisa jumped up, exclaimed, "Nick!" and ran towards her uncle, jumping into a hug. In her ear she heard him muttering quickly and almost urgently, "She's your niece, she's your niece, remember she's your niece," which caused Marisa to jump out of his embrace. She caught the look of amusement and knew immediately it had just been a joke.

"I see your stay hasn't changed you much," Marisa told him, matching his laugh with a sarcastic smile of her own.

"Change? I've been doing nothing but getting better out here!" Nick exclaimed, taking a deep breath and bending back slightly. But before either one of them could continue, a brunette girl came up behind Nick and said in what seemed to be a Russian accent, "And who is this new young one, love?"

Nick laughed before turning around. "My niece and cousin, Victoria, and she is not to be pursued."

Victoria just smiled and said, "No worry. I'm sure we'll spend more time together soon." She sat down in a seat close to the group as Jonathan took a seat next to her, directly behind Marisa. A piercing whistle then rang through the hall. All band members looked up to see Mr. Slepak standing at the center of the room, two fingers still in his mouth. He had a terse, graying beard and piercing eyes, though any other hair was clearly absent. He looked around the room and a somewhat pleasant expression showed.

"May we all find a seat and get started?" he asked the room. Every instrument-player dashed to a seat. Kristina made her way past the group, shooting a dirty look towards Mr. Slepak and muttering, "I'll give you something to sit on," then shot a worried look around the room as if afraid someone had heard her. She quickly dashed off to a seat.

Marisa leaned towards Mark and said, "I have nothing against Flutes, but why is it the few I've seen here today have all seemed to be airy and not know anything."

Jonathan snorted from behind the three. "Kristi? If you think Kristi knows nothing, you have no knowledge of a Woodwind," he said contemptuously. Shocked by the sudden outburst, Marisa didn't have a chance to respond before Mr. Slepak started.

"Well, I'd like to get this Council going. Here, my friends, is the one from the Nyre, Marisa daughter of Chriso. Could you stand, Marisa?"

For a second, Marisa didn't move. She wasn't used to such attention usually in the Nyre. Mr. Slepak motioned for her to get up and gave a smile that conveyed the feeling of one who was impatient and only seeked to hurry along the one who was lagging in his goal or task. Feeling awkward and slightly embarrassed, Marisa rose from her seat. "Ah, there she is."

Mr. Slepak then continued to point out and name other people there. There was a younger French horn which had sat next to Därmel: his niece Emily. There were several Drum Majors who sat near the front. Of the many, there was a bass clarinetist named Mike Borozenets, a trumpeter named Zach Geller, a flutist named Megan Myers, a bassoonist named Chihiro Kashiwakura, an oboist named Sam Toeller, a trombonist named Sam Gerber (a female trombonist gave out a sigh at the mention of him), a clarinetist named Kelly Pekala, a clarinetist named Molly Perres, a saxophonist named Greg Karlovits, an oboist named Michelle Hermany, and the trumpeter Matt Martini.

There was also a Saxophone, dressed in a green shirt that read "Only Chuck Norris can prevent forest fires" and a hobo jacket. His name was Andrew Jennings. There was also Kristina Kittelson the Flute, Mike Connors the Saxophone, Joe Roers the Flute, Jonathan Schmeling the clarinetist, and Victoria Mendez the bass clarinetist. A stoutly built young girl with curly light brown hair was also mentioned. She was Laila Fabien, a clarinetist. There was a shorter trumpeter named Jeff, whose hair was spiked in the front. He wore a brown suede coat. Two other clarinetists were mentioned: Mallika Jayaraman and Monica Chi. Mallika seemed to be of Indian decent and trying to control the Korean girl Monica, who was bouncing up in down in place with a big smile. Even far away, it could be distinctly heard that she was saying, "Sugar? Sugar? Sugar?" over and over again.

There were many more individuals mentioned, but to place them all down at this time would take far too long. The last person mentioned was cloaked and booted as if for a journey on horseback; to his left sat a baritone case. While he was well dressed, he seemed stained with travel and recently too. It may have been an explanation as to why his case had not been put away yet and sat near him.

"Here," Mr. Slepak explained, "is Barimir, a Brass from the south. He's come here for council so I said he could bear presence. We will hopefully answer his questions."

The Council began then. Därmel was the first to speak. "It is now many years ago," he said, "that disquiet swept out people. At first there were whispers, only in secret; they said that the Stoic Mountains was far too narrow, claiming there was much more of the world to be seen. And some spoke of Mornia: the great works of our fathers that are called in our own tongue Vûdën; and so they claimed we had the power and numbers now to return and reclaim."

Därmel sighed. "Mornia! Mornia! Wonder of the Northern world! We did much there – too much. In the privacies of those dark caverns, we awoke a nameless terror. And the inhabitants fled. For years, none dared again to pass through those doors of Vûdën, save one who we found later had perished in the attempt. And so Root-rast, one of the travelers with Nick Ikon and Vrekernt Morakruvlobreev on that story of legend, listened to the rumors eventually and departed with a company for Mornia.

"That was thirty years ago. For a bit, there was good news. But then the news fell silent. We have not heard from Mornia since.

"About a year ago, a messenger came to the Stoic Mountains, but not from Mornia – from Miseri: a horseman. He said that the Lord Rowell the Great desired our friendship. Instruments of Power, like of old, he promised to give. And he asked of the Nyre. He said Rowell knows that someone of there knew us at a time.

"And so the messenger leaned downward and said that if we were to find this thief and get back an insignificant valve ring that he now un-rightly possessed, we would receive three Instruments of Power that the Brass once possessed. And if we got information, we would forever be under the protection of the Lord. But were we to refuse these offers, things would not be so pleasant.

"So we said to give us time to go over such requests. The messenger was not pleased but we stood by it, nonetheless. We needed not the name of Rowell to know that any word borne by that messenger would bear false. Already, we know that it is the same power that has crept back into Miseri and, like before, it tries to trick us. Two times the messenger has returned and he claims that his third shall be at the end of this year.

"So I come here to warn Nick that he is sought and to ask council of Mr. Slepak, in what council he may and can give. For messengers have also been sent to King Crand and I fear he may attack soon or else Crand shall give in."

"You have done well to come," Mr. Slepak told Därmel. "You will all hear what you need to understand our enemy and why we face him. There's not much, Därmel, which you can do except resist, as best and dutifully you can. But remember that you are not alone. The thing that plagues you is the same item which plagues the entire musical world. The Valve! What do we do with this so called "trifle" of Rowell's?

"That is the purpose for which you are called hither. You may not have realized it but your complaints and problems are all connected. No matter from which land you traveled or what instrument you play, you are all here due to the same threat. And for that reason, we now hold this Council. It shall be us that decide the future of Band; it is because it is you who have been called.

"Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. So, I shall tell the Tale of the Valve so that you may know its origins, from beginning to present. I will start this tale, but it shall be others that end it."


	8. The Council of Slepak Part 2

**_Note:_** The original document has illistrations. E-mail me and request.

**Chapter 8  
The Council of Slepak Part 2**

We busted out of class  
Had to get away from those fools  
We learned more from a three-minute record than we ever learned in school  
Tonight I hear the neighborhood drummer sound  
I can feel my heart begin to pound  
You say you're tired and you just want to close your eyes  
And follow your dreams down

We made a promise we swore we'd always remember  
No retreat – believe me – no surrender  
Like soldiers in the winter's night with a vow to defend  
No retreat – believe me – no surrender  
-Bruce Springsteen

Mr. Slepak gazed steadily around the room at everyone present. He told of the original lords of the Musical World – Brass, Percussion, and Woodwinds. It was told of the Fluten-smiths that crafted the first Instruments of Power and their quest for knowledge, through which they were betrayed. Rowell taught them much and he, in turn, learned their secrets and in secret forged the One Valve in the mountains deep in Miseri. One of the Flutes, however, learned of this and hid the Three and there was war so that the gate of Miseri became shut.

From there Mr. Slepak told the history of the ring, though its story is far too long to recall here. By the time he had finished, the sun hat set and rose and the First Day of Council passed.

Of Grendvall he spoke, its magnificence and fall, and the return of the Kings of Clarinets to the Musical World. Then Enders the Short and his sons, Gildor and Arthur, became great lords; in the north they created Arlmore, and in the south was Goldir by the Ezmernth Sea. Yet Rowell of Miseri threatened any peace so that an Alliance of Clarinets and Flutes were made and hosts of Arthur and a Flute lord were made in Almore.

There, Mr. Slepak paused. "I remember well the banners and horns. Loudly and proudly we played, all our energy put into what may have been our last march. I watched them fall, Clarinets and Flutes, in deaths that should not have been."

"You remember?" Marisa asked, astonished at her own outburst. "I thought," she stuttered, "that was very long ago."

A bit of the majestic aurora that Mr. Slepak had possessed diminished as he gave Marisa a toleration smile. "Please don't interrupt; it's rude."

"Sorry," Marisa murmured in response.

"It was a long time ago," Mr. Slepak continued, "but I've seen three ages of band. Next to and in Arthur's army I fought and by my help did the Trumpets join the fight. A three massed army, we struck against Rowell. At the Battle of Dognor before the Black Gate of Miseri I saw the Piccolos advance and the Clarinet of Enders, none could withstand. I beheld the last combat on the slopes, where the Flute King died, and Enders fell. Luckily, another broke through and Gildor cut the Valve from Rowell's hand with the shard of his father's Clarinet, and took it for his own."

At this Barimir broke in. "So that is what has happened to the Valve?" he asked. "If ever such has been said in the south, it has been more than forgotten now! I have heard of the Great Valve, but we had believed it had been destroyed. Gildor took it! This is news indeed."

Mr. Slepak stared at Barimir until he got the hint. "Indeed," he continued. "Gildor took it. It should have been cast into the Cracks of Doom in the belly of Miseri's mountains. We held a meeting, much like this one, to debate the future of the Valve. I said to destroy it but Gildor was fierce in his demand for it to be his.

"It was his death, and, for his sake, better it so. Only in the North was this known, and only by a few. It's not that surprising that you haven't heard of this, Barimir. Only three came back from the site of Gildor's death; one of those was Gildor's esquire, who brought back the shards of his Clarinet to Gildor's heir who had remained here in Rendellin.

"The Three Alliances fought Rowell, but they did not destroy him. The ring was achieved, but it was not eradicated. The Dark Tower was breeched, but it was not torn from its foundations. I wonder if ever again there will be such an Alliance between Brass and Woodwinds. For the race of Grendvall has decayed, and their lordship diminished.

"In the north, kingdoms grew and fell. There is no longer anything to show of them but the records in our libraries.

"In the south, the realm of Goldir lasted long; for a while its splendor grew, almost appearing as the might of Grendvall. The crown of the King of Clarinets soon came to be held by many instruments for that realm has made it habit to play another instrument 'sides the Clarinet. Through this, Goldir is the only kingdom to not be solely one instrument. Their chief city was Gavenhar, Bastion of Notes. And Mithnel Imnay they built, Tower of the Rising Pitch, eastward on an edge of the Mountains of Shadow; and westward at the feet of the Sax Mountains Mithnel Armsel they made, Tower of the Resting Tempo. In the gardens of the King, by his castle, they grew a tree which imprinted upon itself every instrument that ran through the blood of Goldir.

"But in the later years the Tree grew weak and instruments were enveloped into the mass of its bark and wood. The linage at one point failed and rule became in discord. Then guard along Miseri fell and evil things made their way back into the darkness. And soon they made their approach and took Mithnel Imnay and made residence there. It is now Mithnel Misernay, the Tower of the Wretched. Then Mithnel Armsel was renamed Mithnel Goldrenad, the Tower of Goldir. And these two cities were forever at war, but Gavenhar, which lay between, was deserted.

"We now move to the One. It is here that my knowledge is less, so others shall bring to light its discovery."

At once Barimir rose. "Grant me the right, Master Slepak, to be the first to give more news of Goldir, for it is the land of my instrument and blood. And we have great need of help now, so with urgency I tell my tale."

Barimir strode to the middle of the room and turned to the delegation. "Don't be so sure that in Goldir the blood of Grendvall has wholly departed, nor all its pride and dignity forgotten. That race of steadfast Clarinets is still among us, no matter what other instrument that person has chosen to pick up as well. It is by us that the terror of Misernay is held back and that any passage to the sea yet remains.

"But it is possible that such a fate may be approaching. Smoke rises from and around the Dark Tower once more and the strength of their armies grow. Out of Miseri came war which overwhelmed us greatly. We were outnumbered, but I fear more so outranked. Men tell tales of a black horseman who strikes fear and madness in any warrior he passes. I, my brother, and two others were the only escapees of those that held the bridge, and we did so by swimming. Only Norr-on bothers to come to our aid anymore.

"So I come here for council. It is said, after all, the strength of Slepak is in knowledge and not in might." Mr. Slepak's head jerked up at that but he determined it best to not respond. "You see, a dream came upon my brother twice and to me once ere the attack by Miseri.

"In my dream the sky to the east darkened and it seemed thunder was to be foretold. But to the west there remained a fighting light which seemed to cry:

_Seek the Clarinet that was broken:  
__In Rendellin it dwells;  
__There shall be a Council  
__Like the ones of Old dispelled.  
__There shall be shown a token  
__That the past is soon at hand,  
__For Gildor's folly shall be shown  
__And the Clarinet once more shall stand._

We did not know what to make of this so our father, Lord of Mithnel Goldrenad, told us to depart for Rendellin. Since my brother was needed, I left alone."

Strider looked around the room, specifically at Handal and Mr. Slepak. Finally, he said, "You know, wouldn't it have been easier if I had just went after Slepak?" He sighed and got up, picking up his assembled Clarinet as well. "It was smart for you to come here," he told Barimir, lifting his Clarinet up. "Here is the Clarinet that was broken." To accentuate his point, he blew a long and sharp note out of the instrument.

After Barimir was done cringing, he turned to Strider. "And who are you, and what have you to do with Mithnel Goldrenad?" he asked, astonished by the lack of interest that Strider displayed.

"He is Mark Brask," said Mr. Slepak; "he is descended through many fathers from Gildor Engeloth's son of Mithnel Imnay."

"Then it is yours!" Marisa exclaimed, jumping to her feet.

Mark gave her a slight smile and shook his head. "Too much responsibility."

"Bring out the valve, Marisa!" said Handal somberly. "Then Barimir will understand the rest of his puzzlement."

Awkwardly and with hesitance, Marisa pulled the silver ring from one of her pockets. She disliked the attention it received and wished to place it back in her pocket where it was safe and near her. It glinted in the sunlight from the top of the room as all stared. Barimir eyed it. "The Clarinetist!" he muttered. "So Gildor's mistakes are revealed again. But why should we seek a broken instrument?"

"The Clarinet that was Broken was the Clarinet of Enders that broke beneath him when he fell," Mark Brask explained. "My family's always been obsessed with getting it, since they've lost all other heirlooms. So here it is. What do you want?"

"I did not come here for any prize or help," Barimir stated proudly. "But we are in need of some assistance, that is sure, and the Clarinet of Enders would certainly help – if out of the depths of such a long history and past such a thing could reappear." He eyed Strider with doubt; Mark simply sat back down and blew another note from his instrument.

Marisa felt Nick squirm in his seat next to her, impatient. "Asshole," she heard him mutter. Suddenly he jumped up and burst out:

_All that is pretty is not pleasant,  
__All that is lost can be found;  
__The determined are meant to be winners,  
__No matter appearance or sound._

_From the past, a line shall be woken;  
__A hope shall then rest on a king;  
__Renewed shall be sound that was broken:  
__A leader, again, it shall bring._

Not the best, but I think it's clear enough – if you're not even going to trust Slepak. If it took you a while to reach here, you better pay attention to it."

Mark snickered as he sat there, purely amused. "Thanks Nick. I'm not quite the appearance or figure of Enders or Gildor as they are carved in their halls. I descend from Gildor; I'm not the guy."

Barimir stood, uncertain, for a second. "Then how do we know that the valve that clarinetist holds is the One Valve?"

Handal was next to speak. "I have sent three other band members to get one last bit of information to confirm this. They ought to return soon."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I should have never left!" Laura moaned, sinking onto her knees in the mud. She was soaked, her sweatshirt was stained in mud, and she was in the company of a Clarinet and a Trumpet. As far as she could see, things couldn't possibly get any worse.

"You know, you could help me go over these maps. It might help us get out of this mess you got us in," Chelsea shouted over the rain and thunder. She has a large paper rolled out over the ground that she was peering over, glancing up every once in a while to take a look at the forest they were now in as if she expected to recognize that one tree looked different than the many other ones. Melissa just stood off to the side, watching the other two fight.

Laura got up, no longer caring where she had mud and what was dirty. "I got us into this?" she asked the insistent Chelsea. "Don't pin this on me. _You_ were in charge of the maps!"

"And it's not exactly easy to read them when the people who are supposed to be helping me won't even lend a hand," Chelsea shot back.

"You never asked!" Laura exclaimed.

Chelsea shifted herself so she could stare at Laura directly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know I needed to declare I needed help when I was trying to competently read a paper which is three times too big for any person to hold and you won't even bother to stop so I can read it."

"I was trying to teach Melissa what she needs to know to be out here, since she's never traveled anywhere before!" Laura protested, pointing towards the intrigued Melissa.

"Well, then why don't we switch jobs? I can't see how hard it'd be to teach someone something like reading moss off a tree!" Chelsea hoisted herself up so she was standing.

"Well, let's see how well _your_ lessons serve her if she gets lost," Laura retaliated back, plopping uncaringly into the mud to look at the maps.

Chelsea groaned and rolled her eyes as she stomped off, passing Melissa completely. Melissa looked back and forth between Laura and the retreating Chelsea.

"Okay…"


	9. The Council of Slepak Part 3

**_Note:_** The original document has illistrations. E-mail me and request.**  
**

**Chapter 9  
The Council of Slepak Part 3**

Keep on runnin' through all my days  
_He got a need for speed_  
But what you runnin' from, playa?  
_I think he's runnin' from me_  
Take ya time and just relax  
_He ain't got time to take_  
Slow it down and think about it  
_He got moves to make_  
Strugglin' and scrapin', takin' chances, attemptin' to make it  
The time that was taken was tedious but, fuck it, we made it  
-Flipsyde

Laura gazed around the woods they were in, holding a folded map in her hands. Chelsea was walking next to Melissa, telling her instructions in a fashion that invoked the idea she just wanted to get it out of the way.

Every so often, Laura would stop, glance between her map and the area surrounding her, and then continue on her way. After a while, they reached a wall of stone which jutted from the ground and extended past the trees above. Her brow furrowed as she looked at her papers with more scrutiny. Chelsea watched as Melissa thought about preparing herself for another outburst between the two. At the last second, Laura saw what she was looking for.

"Hand me the blue orb Handal gave us please, Melissa," she asked. Melissa pulled from her pocket a softly glowing orb and handed it to Laura. "Let's hope this works," Laura muttered as she pressed the orb against the stone. For a moment, nothing happened; then, the ground beneath the trio shook slightly as the shape of a door slowing emerged in the smooth stone.

Laura sighed, relieved. "This cave is of Brass origins," she explained to the other two. "I was afraid I might have to say something in Brassish for a moment there. I _cannot_ speak that tongue!" They slowly entered the room. The Brass Tongue was inscribed along the walls of the cavern, with other metal artworks left in different areas.

"Melissa, you know Brassish, right?" Chelsea asked as she stared around the room.

"Um…no," Melissa answered.

Both girls turned to face her. "How do you not? You're a Trumpet, aren't you?" Laura asked her, totally confused.

"The only tongue ever used in the Nyre was the Common Tongue," Melissa told them, gazing around the room in curiosity.

For a second, nothing was said. Then Melissa headed to one part of the wall to take a closer look at it. Chelsea and Laura exchanged glances. "So…what do we do from here?" Chelsea asked. Again, silence lapsed between the two. They looked to the sides before Laura responded.

"Dunno."

"Hey, you guys may want to take a look at this," Melissa said over her shoulder, looking at a particular portion of the wall. The other two looked in to read, "Nok hâst, i õhaâ todzâ òn: j Ievb Næbwc." Directly below, scratched into the wall, were the words, "At last, I have found it: the One Valve."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sun had set again and had risen, marking the Second Day of Council's passing. As the congregation waited for Chelsea, Laura, and Melissa, Mr. Slepak and another band director, Mrs. Durham, were passing out drill charts for later practice. One Clarinetist, Omar, came over to Victoria and Jonathan, drill chart in hand.

"Hey, Jon, what'd position d'you get?" he asked.

Simultaneously, Jonathan answered, "Bent over," as Victoria answered, "Spread Eagle." The two looked at each other and laughed, Jonathan remarking, "Great minds think alike."

Soon, however, Victoria noticed the presence of another in their vicinity. She slowly turned around to see a Saxophone with his head directly by hers, trying not to laugh. Once all eyes were focused on him, he cracked up. Omar at this point had given up and moved on elsewhere.

"Andrew Jennings, isn't it?" Jonathan asked.

"It is," Andrew responded, still chuckling. "I believe you had post near Saxzinire during some war or another." He nodded towards Victoria and then Jonathan twice, saying, "Victoria, Jon, Jon's Beard."

"You know her?" Jonathan asked.

"We've met before," they commented.

"Well, Andrew, it's nice to see you again. It's been quite a while. I trust you haven't changed."

Andrew nodded tersely. "Absolutely." There lapsed a silence.

Finally, Jonathan broke it with, "I've got crabs."

Andrew nodded again. "I've got lobsters," he responded fairly seriously.

"I've got all kinds of crustaceans."

Andrew made a motion to mimic looking into his pants. "Hey! I've got Jamaicans down there! What's up, mon?" All three cracked up as Strider made his way over.

He sat on top of Nick, who exclaimed, "Whoa! Mark Brask! Thank you for the greeting." Mark smiled and fondled Nick's chest. "Oh, you're too kind."

Marisa turned to Mark and Nick. "Strider," she started, "you seem to have many names."

"Strider? What kind of name is that? This is Mark Brask here," Nick replied quickly.

"Strider's my porn star name," he answered, running his hand through Nick's hair for the proper effect.

"Ah, alright. Off you go," Nick told him promptly, getting up.

"Well, why do you call him Mark?" Marisa asked Nick.

Nick laughed. "It's the name he was given at birth! Or his royal name, if you wish to think of it that way. To me, I'd be a tad bit frightened if Mark ever decided to actually take the thrown. He's far better someone to clown around with. But where were you at the feast? I must have missed you. There were more than enough females to go around!"

Strider shrugged his shoulders. "I was caught by Slepak and Handal. They still want me to assume my 'birthright and duty'. I told them I couldn't think on an empty stomach." He casted a side glance at Marisa and shook his head. "Didn't work."

Before anyone else could say another word, Nick was heralded by another group of bandies. Marisa turned to Henry and Mark Siermon. "How are you two?" she asked. They both shrugged.

"There's this feeling like I'm finally with the famous and prestigious people I should have always been around. It's been too long," Mark told her.

Marisa and Henry laughed, though immediately Marisa felt she wanted to be elsewhere. She would have described it as emotions but it was precisely that lack of: there were no emotions at that moment; she felt like she was just going through the motions.

Suddenly, the chanting of Nick broke through her misery.

_This is the tale, or so it's told  
In Eyernpo, where Instruments were cast  
The Blesséd Three, so most renowned  
And others by this craft  
Were forged and made by Fluten hands  
And yet, what price this task?  
Is the mirth of knowledge, sweet as a drunk,  
An illusion-ment at last?  
What's fine is fair, or so they say  
Yet fair still seems a mask  
For surely now, after ages gone  
We cannot say it that_

There was clapping from various instruments. "The ending could use some work," one Flute shouted out in laughter.

"Due to the quality of the verse or moral of the story?" Nick asked. "It's said that Flutes love to hear of themselves, except when it is criticism." Nick stepped down from the higher seats he had been standing on as he said this.

The Flute giggled coyly. "What would make you assume that? A Clarinet would do no better in that historical situation, except maybe not having the ability to craft such an instrument. And yes, the last verse was quite lacking in artistic ability."

Nick laughed. "I've barely slept the past few days! That I even said anything clearly is a miracle in itself."

"Were you to drink less, you might not slur so much."

"It's free! And to excess. Surely you can understand no restraint?" Nick asked. "In any case, my question is left unanswered."

"Enough!" she laughed. "I cannot tell. We're not so adept at telling the difference between Clarinets."

Nick chuckled in disbelief. "You can't tell the difference between what my verses are and which are Mark's? We're entirely different people!"

"Perhaps to a Clarinet, one is different from another. But to a Flute, a Clarinet is hardly classifiable. There's nothing to base it off of!"

"As you say." Nick headed back to where Marisa was. "As a matter of fact, it was all mine," Nick whispered to her. "But it is true that others are hard put to define us; we seem far less categorical. I guess that's just Band for you."

Jonathan headed back from talking to Mr. Slepak at that moment and sat back down. "Seems they're going to want me and Chelsea to head the Clarinet divisions of any armies that are sent with the girl," he told Victoria.

"Will there actually be an army?" she asked.

"Possibly. They may just settle to a large fellowship to guide her. But who's to say?" He sighed. "It's going to be bad."

Victoria took in what he said before she paused. "Wait, since you guys'll be my generals, that means you get to choose who I room with during our travels, right?" she asked eagerly.

Jonathan thought about it before slowly nodding.

Victoria grabbed his arm, begging, "_Please_ let me room with Michelle. She's _so_ squeamish!" Jonathan laughed as he tried to get Victoria to stop bouncing up and down.

"Okay! Okay."

"Yes!" She then paused. "I orgasmed." Her friend gave her a look of questioning. "Wanna help me clean it up?" she asked slyly.

A smile quickly swept his face as he promptly answered, "Yes ma'am!" They both collapsed into laughter at that.

Marisa looked towards Nick with a worried expression. "Are all foreign bandies like this?" she asked cautiously.

"Hmm?" Nick inquired, looking up. "Are you worried about Victoria? She's harmless; don't worry. And if you think _that's_ odd, you ought to see what I do to Mr. Melado every day," he said, motioning to Jonathan. "Besides, with all the antics I gave you back at Reed End, this ought to be nothing to you."

Marisa couldn't help but laugh at the truth in that statement. "You're right."

All persons in that vicinity looked up to see Mallika and Monica approach the two.

"Hello all," Mallika greeted them.

"Hey Mallika," Jonathan greeted her.

"I heard you'll possibly be my general," she told him.

"That's true," he affirmed. "You'll have to take orders from me."

"Well then, better abandon before this starts."

"Is that so?" he asked her. "Because I was thinking of promoting you. But if that's your attitude –"

"Seriously?" Mallika burst out, suddenly entirely excited. "That would be_awesome_." She grabbed the surprised Jonathan's hands and asked again, "Are you serious? Would I be able to give orders? That would be _so_ cool. I could tell people to do all kinds of things. Oh, the possibilities!" She then laughed evilly – or as evil as a hyper mood-changing teenage girl can be.

Monica just groaned dissatisfying-ly and pushed Mallika back and forth slowly by the shoulder. "Where's _sugar_?" she asked despairingly. "I want sugar…"

"I don't think that's the best idea Monica," Jonathan told her, glancing between Victoria who was now randomly dancing and Mallika, who still had a twinkle in her eye.

Monica groaned again and weakly shoved Jonathan.

Before they could speak again, the doors to the room opened. Laura, Chelsea, and Melissa entered. All eyes glanced at the girls, who were soaked in mud and fatigue. Nearly wobbling forward, Chelsea and Laura headed to Mr. Slepak and Handal. Melissa sort of stared around a bit and then went to sit down before the other two doubled back to grab her and carry her along.

Nick glanced at them and said, "About fucking time. Maybe we can move onward with this shit. I want to get to my part of the story." He threw a smile to Marisa who laughed back.


	10. The Council of Slepak Part 4

**_Note:_** The original document has illistrations. E-mail me and request.**  
**

**Chapter 10  
The Council of Slepak Part 4**

Beata Maria – you know I am a righteous man  
Of my virtue I am justly proud  
Beata Maria, you know I'm so much purer than  
The common, vulgar, weak, licentious crowd  
Then tell me, Maria, why I see her dancing there  
Why her smoldering eyes still scorch my soul  
I feel her – I _see_ her – the suncourt in her raven hair  
Is blazing in me out of all control

Like fire – _Hellfire_ – this fire in my skin…  
This burning…desire…is turning me…to…sin…

It's not my fault!  
I'm not to blame!  
It is the gypsy girl, the witch, who set this flame!

It's not my fault  
If in God's plan  
He made the devil so much stronger than the man!

Protect me, Maria – don't let this siren cast her spell  
Don't let her fire sear my flesh and bone  
Destroy Esmeralda! And let her taste the fire's of Hell!  
Or else let her be mine and mine alone…  
-Disney

Laura and Chelsea talked briefly with Mr. Slepak and Handal. Soon, the two turned around and tried to regain the attention of the band. Shouts were being thrown across the room and others were horsing around.

"Hey, could I get a change of pants here?" Strider shouted from the front row. "I think I've got girl pants." Mrs. Durham gave him a look. "Hey, it's one leg or the other, if you know what I mean."

The sound started to recede. The sun marked midday of the Third Day of Council. "Nick," Mr. Slepak started, motioning towards the Clarinet, "if you would, may you recite your portion of the valve's history?"

Nick stood. "Is there a chance we may get some rest soon?" he asked.

"There shall be," Handal told him. "But this is of much urgency and the sparse rests are necessary. Tell us your part, and, if you haven't crafted it in verse quite yet, speak it plainly. But with haste!"

Nick gave the wizard a nod of acknowledgement. "I do say, to those who have heard this tale already and in different form, forgive me – shit happens."

Nick then told his whole tale, as it had happened. Not even the riddles and curses that he and Bullom had exchanged were left unmentioned. When it was told that the valve ring had passed to Marisa, Nick was relieved of speech and Marisa told to continue.

Less willingly and bravely than Nick, Marisa told of her time with the valve. While Nick had the luck of no interruptions, Marisa's story was questioned and examined at every moment. When at last she had finished, she sat down tiredly.

Handal rose then. "As we see, we have our story. And there is reason to think this is the One Valve. If not, what is it? The Nine the Hagsnard keep. The Seven are reclaimed by Rowell or destroyed. And the Three are kept safely here. Clearly this cannot be a piece of one of those instruments, if something like those could break. It makes only sense for this to be the One.

"There has been much time from the Loss and the Finding, assuredly. But the gap of knowledge has been filled, though a bit too late. It seems that Rowell closely followed as well. Some may remember that I had passed into the tower of what we once thought a nameless spell caster in Soilwood; there, I studied his doings and his work, and we learned that it was yet still Rowell, trying to regain the power he had lost. So the Council of Wizards drove him out. But Rowell had his eye on us the whole while and had prepared; he had kept watch of Miseri through Mithnel Misernay, where the Nine dwelt, and when we attacked he had feigned his defeat. He fled to the Dark Tower and began an open search for the One. We feared that he may know something we did not, but Rowumell the Wise told us to rest our fears."

Handal sighed. "I should not have listened. I went to watching and monitoring all things I thought needed oversight, telling no one of what I observed. And for many years, fear didn't stir within me; but at length it did, so I told of all I knew to Mark Brask, the heir of Gildor Engeloth."

"And I," said Strider, "told Handal that we ought to teach the worm a lesson, so we set off in search of Bullom."

And the two told of their search which brought them to the skirts of Miseri. "We searched long to see if he clung to those places," Handal told them, "yet we found nothing. And then I thought of another way of detection for the ring. Words of Rowumell came back to me, long ago spoken: the Nine, the Seven, and the Three are all instruments. Easily you can tell they are not a valve ring. Yet the One is to have marks set by its maker upon its surface.

"So I went to Goldir to look at their scrolls, in hope I may uncover something – anything – lost. And I found much. Many tongues that have fallen of use and of knowledge. And Barimir, in Mithnel Goldrenad I found – unread, probably, by any except Rowumell and myself since the kings fell – a scroll by Gildor himself. After Miseri, he did not simply leave immediately, as some have said."

"In the North, perhaps," Barimir responded. "All of Goldir knows he went first to Mithnel Armsel and stayed with his nephew, teaching him, before making him ruler of the South Kingdom."

"And during that time he made a scroll," Handal told him. "He wrote:

_The Great Valve shall be an heirloom of the North Kingdom; but records of it shall be left in Goldir, where the heirs of Enders dwell, in case the world should ever forget what has taken place._

Gildor then spoke of the Valve Ring.

_It was hot at first, glowing white, but it soon cooled, faster than is possible for any metal known to Clarinet or otherwise. Its glow fades and so does its writing, which was, just moments before, blazing from the silver metal. It is a Fluten tongue, but the pronouncement must be one of the Miseri dialects. I know that language to be harsh on the mouth, though I know it not; I can not read the writing. Were the Valve to be heated again, like the hand of Rowell, it may yield the speech brightly again. As it is, I shall not try it but inscribe it here, so that it may not be forgotten. I do not wish to hurt this; I am fond of it._

Gildor was correct: while in Fluten tongue, its pronunciation was of a Miserian dialect; that is the only logical conclusion, considering it was Rowell which crafted this. At once I left, but message came to me that Mark had found Bullom and so I went to see him."

"There isn't much to tell," Strider announced. "That little whore gave me attitude so I pimp slapped him back into line." To the few that knew Strider, there was laughter (particularly from Nick); everyone else was appalled. Unfazed, Strider continued, "When I found him, he was already heading away from Miseri. By luck, I found and caught him. He put up a fight, naturally, and would calm down the entire journey. I finally dropped his ass in Soilwood, as was agreed with the Flutes there. I was glad he was gone – he stank," Strider exclaimed, sighing heavily and waving his hand back and forth.

"I questioned him from there. I learned all that confirmed my previous guesses about Nick and the ring. I also learned that Bullom had lived far beyond his proper lifespan; the Valve had granted him many years, as is fitting for the One Valve.

"This aside, I performed another test – I set the valve in a fire and upon its surface formed Fluten writing. It is the same words which the Smiths of Eyernpo heard and knew that they had been betrayed:

_One Valve to rule them all, One Valve to find them, One Valve to bring them all and in the music bind them._

Remember also that I got much from my conversations with Bullom and found he had descended into Miseri. The Dark Lord gained much from Bullom's visit, including the knowledge of the Valve. And now he knows it still exists, and, further, that we have it here. Thankfully, he is still locked away."

At this point, there was a cough from a male Flute in the third circle from the center of the room. Handal looked towards him as he stood. He was dressed in grey and black clothing, with hair which came down to cover half of his face. There was not the mirth that was usual to the face of Flutes. "I come to bring unfortunate news; Bullom, I'm afraid has escaped.

"Trust, we watched him carefully. But we were told by Handal there was hope yet for the creature so we kept him above, out of our dungeons for fear that he would fall into old thoughts if left there."

A grunt was heard from Därmel. "You were less tender to me," he stated evenly, a gleam in his eye which conveyed his memories of those dungeons.

"Please!" Handal interrupted. "Not now, my good Därmel. That was a mistake, long since set right. If all qualms between Brass and Woodwinds were brought before this Council, our death would find us before we ever gave a fight.

"This is terrible news though. We must break now and adjourn later. Perhaps a meal would suit everyone's mood."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As soon as the plate appeared hands dashed for whatever piece of meat they could grab. They sound of greedy mouths sinking into greasy flesh rose hungrily. Of the rare vegetarians present, they attacked their food just as greedily.

There was no talk for a while as food was consumed. After some time, a Saxophone raised his head. He noticed Melissa, Laura, and Chelsea off a bit, talking again to Mr. Slepak and Handal.

The Saxophone pointed toward Melissa. "The tall Trumpet over there. She's rather attractive, wouldn't you say?"

Mike Connors looked up and shrugged. Jonathan did as well. "Indifferent," he said quickly and returned to his plate. Another Clarinet who happened to have sat with them just sat there for a moment, confusion on her face. "Why are you asking me?" Laila asked.

The Saxophone laughed. "Forgive me – Laila isn't it? It was directed at those two."

A Euphonium took a swig of his drink as he said, "She's alright. What of the Clarinet?"

The two looked at Jonathan and Mike expectantly. They looked up and laughed, Jonathan repeating, "Indifferent."

The Saxophone sighed. "Okay, I can't possibly believe you take _no_ interest in a girl's attractiveness whatsoever," he told Jonathan.

He glanced up and asked, "Why? What's so exciting about it?"

The Euphonium coughed and added, "Well, I can think of one thing." This drew a laugh from everyone.

Jonathan dipped his hands in the bowl of water by him and wiped his hands on his shirts. "_Trust_ me, my friend, I have at least _twice_ the sexuality of you. But what either of those girls look like isn't going to tell me anything of them. Well, that the one is fairer makes it clear she's a Clarinet, but that's to be expected," he added with half a smile.

The group laughed as Laila rolled her eyes, looking briefly around to see if there was elsewhere to go. There wasn't.

"So you take no interest?" the Euphonium asked.

Jonathan grabbed another chicken and shrugged. "Not particularly. There's a score of things about them which you could never know from just looking at them and are ten times more important. That's how it is with any person. I can't imagine any person who'd want to know that whoever they're with took interest in them because they liked their ass."

"Hmm," the Euphonium murmured, which drew more laughs.

The Saxophone grabbed more meat and turned to Jonathan. "Okay, so the last one – we could agree she's very attractive, right? You are telling me that that weighs no point on your conscience? Are you saying that this would not fit into any form of evaluation of her?"

Jonathan barely glanced up. "She's a Flute," he answered simply.

The Euphonium laughed. "I'm Brass. I heard that Clarinets don't take too kindly to us either."

"You're tolerable. There aren't nearly as many Brass like you," Jonathan told him. "Besides, our big complaint is with the Trumpets."

"Back to subject," the Saxophone interrupted. "The Flute – she sparks no interest?"

Jonathan sighed and placed down his food. "Even if she were not a Flute, her beauty weighs no account on my conscience – yes. I could really care less. My only interest would lie in who she is as a person. That being said, I'd never take any form of interest in a Flute to begin with. Were one's honor attacked, I would defend, but beyond that I take no pleasure in associating with them, except for the next time a Clarinet bests one's worth in any form of competition. I've lost all sanity the day I enter a relationship with one. Clear?"

Despite the harshness of his message, a tad form of mirth laid on his face, conveying he wasn't angry at his eating companion.

Suddenly, Jonathan felt something hitting against his back. He looked back to see Andrew making humping motions. "Well, you certainly know how to treat the messenger!" he exclaimed, laughing.

"Oh, I _aim_ to please," Andrew told him, cracking up himself. But before Jonathan could respond, he felt himself pelted with water.

He turned around quickly to see Michelle standing there, holding a bowl for hand water and laughing uncontrollably. He groaned and said to the Saxophone, "_See_ why I hate Flutes?"

"What?" Michelle giggled still more. "You were dirty, don't know how to eat properly, and smell. I was simply giving you a bath."

Jonathan got up and turned to Michelle. "Did I ask you for a bath?" he asked her.

"Oh, you expect a Clarinet to know when he needs to shower?" she asked, nearly falling over. "He barely knows when he ought to talk and when not!"

Jonathan groaned and pelted after Michelle as she took off to escape him. Since she was smaller, she quickly got away as she ran. Jonathan sighed and stalked back.

He sat down, wiping water from his hair. He then noticed a rather large bulge in Andrew's pants. "Andrew, what do you have there?"

Andrew looked down. "Huh? Oh, that!" He reached in and pulled out a fairly large egg. "I found this outside somewhere. So I thought I'd keep it warm and see what hatched."

Jonathan looked towards Mike and asked, "Is it a Sax thing?"

Mike laughed and said, "Don't ask me."


	11. A Horn in the NightThe Council Part 5

**_Note:_** The original document has illistrations. E-mail me and request.

**Chapter 11  
A Horn in the Night/The Council of Slepak Part 5**

Well, I'm leaving tomorrow at daybreak  
Catch the fastest train around nine  
Yes, I'm leaving the sorrow and heartache  
Before it takes me away from my mind

Send me love and I may let you see me  
Send me hopes that can spin in my head  
But if you really want me to answer  
I can only let you know when I'm dead  
-Black Sabbath

Fred Rolger peered out the door. He quickly glanced around before stealing back in, clinging to his French horn more dearly. "There's something afoot," he muttered, locking the door, "or the work I've put on _my_ tone is in vain."

As night came and thickened, shadows by the moon stretched outward. Yet they continued to stretch, far past their appropriate length. No footsteps were heard; in fact, no sound whatsoever was heard as the shadows stretched onward, broke, and blended into other ones. Slowly, as time was nearing dawn, they crept up towards the house. Finally, figures came forth from the shadows. A deafening slam was heard against the frame of the door.

"Open, in the name of Miseri!" a voice rasped, sounding as if the windpipe from which it came had been twisted, mutilated, and crushed so that voice found it difficult to get through.

When no response was heard, the door was hit again, so that it fell inward with a shattering of wood and spray of splinters. The deathly figures surged forward.

At that moment, the sound of a French horn rang loudly and many other band members rushed out of the nearby trees, the cry of Woodland blaring heavily.

Fred Rolger hadn't been stupid. When he noticed the shadows, he quickly ran to the next house, though harried. When the neighbors had managed to calm him down, he swiftly told them of what he had seen. It quickly became clear that there were invaders in the Nyre.

In no time, many of the resident Woodwinds had been assembled of Woodland and whatever Percussion and Brass that could be grabbed in short time. As soon as the door went down they charged out of hiding towards their enemy, crying out support and words for morale.

The Valvewraiths fled the house, laughing harshly beneath their cloaks. Soon, the sound of hoofs was heard as they stormed away in the night. "Let the instruments blow! Rowell will deal with them later," they hissed through their breath. Their mission had changed: the Valve Ring was not at the house anymore.

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Marisa jerked awake. She glanced down to see Mark lying on her lap. "Must've dozed off," she thought groggily as she looked around the Dinner Hall. Everyone had been instructed to stay there at all times, so that when the Council resumed everyone wouldn't have to be found. Marisa saw the sun rising slightly, marking dawn. The Forth Day of Council would begin soon.

Marisa spotted Melissa walking towards her and Mark. When she had reached them, she said, "The Council's going to start again soon. I wanted to let you guys know what happened beforehand. Let's head elsewhere."

"Alright," Henry told her, getting up.

Marisa shoved Mark. "Up, Mark," she told him.

"Not so rough, Melissa…" he murmured softly, caressing Marisa's thigh.

Marisa laughed as she shoved him harder, knocking him off the bench. He met the ground with a loud thud and groan. He looked up to see Melissa standing over him. He smiled sheepishly.

"Shooting _way_ too high," was the only thing she said.

Mark dusted himself off as he got up. "Don't make fun of my height…"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He passed by Handal, sneering menacingly. "I don't know why you bother with them," Rowumell spat. "They sicken me."

Handal looked up from his crouched position. "Would you rather I exploited them, as you do the Orchestra?" he asked as sweat leaked down his face. He glanced frantically around him; though he tried, there seemed to be only one door in the round room of the tower they were now in. Black stone made a concrete prison.

"Don't bother trying to escape," Rowumell told him. "You won't be able to." A piercing heat seemed to permeate everywhere. Rowumell, however, didn't seem to mind.

He leaned towards Handal, looking mockingly into his eyes. "Have you _seen_ them? They're _weak_," he snarled. He stood swiftly back up. "Like you."

He walked slightly away, his shoes being heard upon the floor. "Do you even remember?" Handal gasped, struggling for air as he craned his head upward; his hands were bound. "We had a _choice_, Rowumell!" He sniffed and lowered himself for air. "We had a choice and all the wizards made it. You were there; you defended."

Rowumell stopped. "Of course I remember," he said slowly.

"We came together, back in the First Age, to decide what we would do about Band. It had been here since the first days of the Musical World and was part of what made it musical. So what were we to do? We came together and _you_ fought for their defense. You said that we were to serve, watch over, and protect over this world, particularly the Band because it was the most noble and pure of endeavors." Handal started to cough violently, his beard a mess and starting to curl.

A slight smile crept to Rowumell's lips. "Of course; but we are all young at some point. The years have made me wise, and they have opened my eyes. I see it all so much more clearly now." He walked towards Handal and grasped him by the back of his hair. "But they have kept you a fool." With a swift tug, Handal cried out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Marisa shook her head. "Are you alright?" Melissa asked her, glancing with concern. Both Henry and Mark did the same, the same inquiring stare matching Melissa.

Marissa nodded. "Just drowsy, it seems." All three nodded and then turned back to the front.

All around the room, noise was heard. It seemed that the Council may not even start.

A piercing whistle rang out. "Quite please," Mr. Slepak yelled out. Slowly, the noise quieted down. "Thank you," he said quickly as he turned to sit down. He brushed off the jeans he wore and blue button-up shirt as well. Eyes as piercing and intent looking as always, he looked around. Short, to the point, and quick about action, he understood and knew Band than anyone else in the room. He made no strength to hide it.

Handal stood. "It seems I must address Rowumell's absence at so necessary a meeting at this present time," Handal told them all. He stared at each of them intently, letting them know the significance of what he was to say. "As you all know, towards the coming of this Council, my fear had been growing. Soon enough, I caught an old friend of mine, Michael the Sharp, near the Nyre. He lived along the borders of Soilwood and I had not seen him for several years.

"'Handal! I had been looking for you,' he had told me. 'I'm afraid though that my news is not the best. Hagsnard: the Nine are amongst us again. Everywhere they go, they speak of the Nyre. So I was told to search for you.'

"I grew disparaged. 'Who sends you?' I asked him.

"'Rowumell the Musical,' he told me. I was told to see Rowumell at once. So I traveled to his tower, near the Stoic Mountains. And I descended into his tower to the floor which Rowumell was on.

"'So you have come, Handal,' he said to me. His actions were terse, as if a coldness pervaded from him.

"'I have,' I told him. 'I have come for your aid, Rowumell the Musical.' The name seemed to insult him.

"'Is that so, Handal the _Legato_?' he snorted. 'It is said that is rare, that you prefer to help and interfere as you feel pleased, without any one else's consent!'

"This drew me back and I was wary. 'It seems something approached which will require all of our strength. Michael the Sharp has told me so.'

"At this he laughed with malicious scorn. "Michael the Sharp? More like Michael the Dull! He had but enough brain to play into my plan, which was to get you here; as we can see, he did not fail in that. And you will stay here, Handal the Legato. For I am Rowumell the Wise – Rowumell the Conductor!'

"I saw then that the inside of his robes were marked with many symbols for both Band and Orchestra. I was shocked.

"'I liked Musical better,' I told him.

"'Musical?' he screeched. 'It's knowledgeable, yes, but it portrays false power. A man may spend all his days learning to sight read, perfecting his tone, having good articulation, and a desirable sense of beat, but he shall always be at the whim of the Band Director. Only he which conducts truly controls any music or band.'

"'We made an agreement with the Directors long ago – the Band was theirs to control, if one can control such people. We were to watch and protect – nothing more. Do you think one person can handle such a task?' I asked him.

"'Do _not_ lecture me!' Rowumell demanded. He raised his hands and I felt my arms bound behind me. I fell heavily, crouched over, onto the floor. On my knees, I could not raise my back, so that to look up I bent my neck in pain. And for the first time since the first rise of Rowell, fear shone on my face like the glow of molten rock in Miseri."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Look, Handal," his voice slithered, attempting to sound soft and cool. "Take a look at the children you hold so dear."

Rowumell raised the staff in his hand. At the bottom, carved into the wood, was the shape of a bass clef. At the top, also carved out of the dark, brown, polished wood was a treble clef. He waved it over the floor in front of Handal. Beneath the stone, deep within it, shapes formed and voices rose. Handal stared at the images of many times and places. Slowly he watched figures form.

Marisa was sitting, with Mark, Melissa, and Henry around her. "Calm down, Marisa," Henry was telling her.

"Everything will be fine," Melissa seconded.

Fear was fresh within her. She looked up; not in aggression or frustration but in bewilderment. "How do you know that?" she asked in a hushed whisper. "You haven't seen what I have or felt what I've felt."

Mark rested a hand on her shoulder. "You're strong," he told her. "I've seen you lead us out of more trouble and crap than anyone else. Hell, you put up with _me_. That counts for something."

Marisa wanted to laugh but she felt so empty. She wanted to cry but she had forgotten how. "It possesses you. It grips you and refuses to let go," she told them. She was slightly bent over, as if she wished to hug herself. "People have _died_. What if I'm next? What if one of you is next?"

No one answered. They solemnly didn't meet her gaze.

"They'll probably ask me to bear it," she said at length. "I don't want to. I'm _so_ agitated." She gasped. "I'm scared."

The scene was then yanked from Handal's gaze. Again the floor surged cloudy. Swirls of black and dark gray gave way to colors and sound.

Chelsea was pacing back and forth. She abruptly sat down and then rose again. "That's _really_ annoying," Devin, a Trumpet, commented.

"Sorry," she said quickly as she started to pace again.

"So what are we to do?" Laura asked from the perch she sat. She had her hoodie zipped up and her hands in her pockets as her legs swung back and forth from her seating.

Mike sighed. "Who's to say?" he asked, placing his saxophone in its case. "We don't even have an army that we can mass. Half the people in this room can't even stand each other." Absentmindedly, Michelle glanced towards Victoria. "If we at least had a king…"

"You know we don't, Mike," Spencer Karlovits, a Trombone, intervened. "He won't take the thrown, as you found out."

"Then how do we expect to be united?" Mike asked, slightly frustrated. "Goldir is failing and's had who knows how many different other instruments besides Clarinet, or even Woodwind, put into its blood." He sighed, nearly grabbing the top of his head. He sat down. "How can you expect to stick together if you don't relate to those who you strive with? Goldir is falling. That realm's inhabitants don't know where to throw their loyalty to. And of every other realm? I don't even know anymore. As to where Norr-on is putting its loyalty is of question these days; that they are becoming more outspoken is a scary thought indeed. French horns are loyal and strong, but by nature and choice they do not stick out." Mike rested his head on one of his hands.

Andrew Jennings snickered along with David Koser at Mike's last statement. Emily just looked towards Mike.

"And even if Gildor's heir took the thrown?" Jeff, a Trumpet, asked. "Who's to say he'd do what's right? As you said Mike, we are divided. Scarily, even those in this room would rather kill each other than work along. Necessity brings us together."

Again the colors left. The stone became dark and thick again. "The days of old are gone," Rowumell told Handal. "Scared, divided, and ignorant is all that remains of Band."

Handal sighed heavily, so that his entire frame was racked. "You are deeply mistaken," he said slowly, his figure damp from the heat.

"Ass! Fool! You are blind!" was Rowumell's quick response.

"It is you who is blind," Handal told him. With no aid from his staff and with great difficulty, Handal made the stone move again. The scene shone once more.

"It's necessity, but so much more than that," Victoria said slowly, leaning against the wall near Chelsea. All heads turned towards her. Caught slightly off guard, she nearly tripped over her words in slight embarrassment. "What I mean to say is, no matter what, the Band has stuck together. It's true we aren't as united as we once were, but who's to say that will stop us? No matter what amenity a Flute and Clarinet have, they will quickly ignore it if one or the other is being attacked. As Woodwinds, we are bound. And no matter how annoyed either a Trumpet or Trombone or other Woodwind may be to each other, were any of them in need of help, I doubt that any would let harm befall another. Whether any of us like it, Brass, Percussion, and Woodwind is what make Band. And maybe we don't stick together so much now. _But_, damn it, anyone strikes us, we strike _back_."

No one said anything. No needed to. It would have struck all of their pride too much to agree to agreeing amongst themselves. But in their silence was conveyed an understanding and agreement that they all agreed and that Band would be preserved.

The vision crashed in upon itself as Handal started to cough violently. Rowumell just sneered lividly at the suffering wizard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Thankfully, Michael had sent word to friends of mine, so that I was soon rescued without Rowumell's knowledge," Handal told the room.

Marisa put a hand to her head in discomfort. "What is it?" Henry asked. "Is it the ring?" Marisa just shook her head.

"I don't know."

Handal turned to sit down. "That is the end to my story. The only thing we have left to decide is who is to take the Valve."

For a moment, there was silence. Then Nick stood. "I see it'll have to be me," he stated. "After all, to an extent, I started this. It is my burden to bear."

Barimir looked towards Nick but his budding smile quickly faded when he noticed no humor in the room matching his; to his surprise, many of the faces looked upon Nick with a reverent respect.

Handal laughed. "My dear friend! It cannot be you. You have borne this burden more than enough and for far too long. I would perish were I to see you return to it. It must someone else. Stick to your story, lest this should change your proposed ending. Write a sequel, should the travelers return; I have no doubt you would love the endeavor."

Again silence fell. No one moved, except for slight fidgeting from Barimir. Marisa's mind wheeled. She flipped the turmoil and dilemma over in her mind several times before getting up, though her legs nearly betrayed her.

"I will take the Valve," she said, "though I do not know the way."


	12. Band Enviroment

**Chapter 12  
Band Environment**

What, y'all ain't heard that nigga, Jay, high?  
The Cristals, they keep me wet like Baywatch  
I keep it tight for all the nights my mom prayed I'd stop  
Said she had dreams that snipers hit me with a fatal shot  
Those nightmares, mom  
Those dreams you say you got give me the chills  
But these mils, well, they make me hot  
Y'all don't feel me…  
Enough to stop the illin', right?  
But at the same time these dimes keep me feelin' tight  
I'm so confused…  
O. K., I'm gettin' weeded now  
I know I'm contradicting myself – look, I don't need that now  
It's just once in a blue moon when there's nothin' to do and  
The tension's too thick for my sober mind to cut through  
I get to zonin'  
Me and the chick on the L and then we're bonin'  
I free my mind; sometimes I hear myself _moanin'  
_Take one more toke and I leave that weed alone, man  
It got me _goin'  
_Shit…  
-Jay-Z

"So, who are to be my companions?" Marisa asked Handal as she sat on the bed. He looked sidelong at her.

"That's yet to be decided," he told her. "We still need to see what has happened to those Valvewraiths and winter is approaching soon; then is not at all a good time to depart." Handal sat down himself and sighed. "Besides, we still need to train you all in marching."

Henry looked up slightly from where he was sprawled on another bed. "Of course, we're going with you," he told Marisa.

Marisa was startled. "Are you sure you want to do that?" she asked him.

"Of course we are," Melissa added, sticking her head out of a room. "Mark's been already told _he_ can go and someone needs to keep him in line."

Mark just smiled.

"Of course you two want to go; none of you know what you are facing," Mr. Slepak told them, entering the room from the hallway. All except Handal jumped at this. "This journey is more than any of you can fathom. Were it up to me, none of you would go at all."

"Eh, we can take 'em," Mark said in response. "Or I'm sure you could Mr. Slepak."

He laughed and smiled at Mark. "Well, I don't mean to brag…" he joked. He glanced at his watch and his eyes widened at the time. "I've got to get going. Handal, I'll talk to you later?"

The wizard nodded reassuringly as Mr. Slepak left.

"I really don't get him," Marisa noted afterwards.

Handal looked at her, amused, and asked, "How so?"

Marisa removed some hair from her face. "Well, sometimes he seems completely approachable; he's like someone you could joke around with and spend time with. And then other times, he seems to almost belittle you. It's like you're just in the way and, unfortunately, a necessary part of his time." She sighed.

Again, Handal nodded. "Band Directors are odd ones. Obviously, like all human beings, they vary. Yet they can be utterly rewarding people at times and, at others, as faulty as anyone I know. I expect they mean well and that the need to enforce discipline has just blurred their judgment of how to act around other band members. And, sometimes, a bit of favoritism factors in. I have come to just looked at the good in them, rather than focus on the bad."

There was nothing said for a moment. Then Handal stood. "I nearly forgot; we must head to the fields. Training needs to be done."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Detail – a-ten, _hut_!"

"Hut!" The sound of many voices shot across the outside field. Heels snapped together, at 30˚ angles, hands went to chin lever, clasped, and shoulders were rolled back as backs straightened.

"Parade rest!"

"One!" Legs parted and hands went downward.

"At the ready!"

Hisses rose as the heads of every bandie faced the ground. After the basics were learned, the group started to march formations.

"Flutes! Horns level!" the projected sound of Mr. Slepak rang.

"Are we that surprised?" Laila muttered, rolling her eyes.

"How much more are we to do of this?" Mallika asked in anguish. "I _know_ this already."

"Well, Ms. First Clarinet, some of us don't learn nearly as quickly," Laila told her as a command for a forward march 8 and a lift for 8 counts was given.

Once they had returned to attention, Mallika shot back, "So am I to forgive _your_ lack of talent? I'm not as amazing as you make me out, Laila."

"Nick! Pull up your pants," Victoria told Nick Ikon, who was right in front of her.

Nick smiled as he looked back. "Aw, you know you like it."

Victoria laughed. "You _know_ I don't swing that way, right?"

"Flutes! Go back and redo those flanks!" Mr. Slepak boomed again.

"_I'll_ give you something to do again," Kristina growled, then looked around hurriedly to make sure no one had heard her. She then narrowed her eyes again as she forward marched. "What is it with the Flutes this time?" she thought to herself. Woodwinds were usually never bothered, even if they were in the front. "What happened to the Brass? I _know_ they haven't suddenly learned how to march. I don't see any fire and brimstone yet."

Spencer nudged a Trombone next to him. "How do you tune 5 oboes?" he asked. When there was no response, he said, "Shoot 4 of them."

Emily kept her eyes level as she went back 16 half steps. "There's a Band Director and a Trumpet in the middle of the road. Which do you hit first?" she asked someone to the left of her. They shrugged their shoulders. "Band Director: business before pleasure."

Tommy Hersh finished yelling at a younger Cymbal, who clearly had no clue what he was doing. "Hey guys," he started, a smile appearing. "How do you satisfy a Trumpet's ego?" His fellow percussionists shook their heads. He laughed and said, "Kill him."

"Hey," Joe started, in a voice that heightened in pitch and conveyed he was about to say something he deemed important. "What do you do with a bandie that can't march? Give him two sticks and put him in the back."

"Pst! Guys – what do you get when you cross a Tuba and football goalpost?" Monica asked Victoria, Laila, and Mallika.

"What?" Mallika asked.

"A goalpost that can't march!" she whispered, her entire face cracking up, as did her friends.

"Band!" Mr. Slepak screamed from his standing spot. "Stop talking and march right!" He stood atop stone steps, which were often used to sit on. "Percussion! Give me this beat," and he proceeded to show them what he expected.

"Tweee-ee-eet! Tweet, tweet, tweet!" his whistle rang out.

"Pop step!" was the response of the band.

"Tweee-ee-eet! Tweet –"

"Freeze halt!"

"Geez, Percussion!" Mr. Slepak hollered. "It's not that hard! Play the cadence!" He whistled and the band started again. Soon, Mr. Slepak was whistling again. "Percussion – when will you get this damn cadence right!" Again, the band was commanded forward.

None of the Percussion expected it. Soon Mr. Slepak was bolting down the stone seats. He charged at one of the Snares and grabbed the stick. "This – is – how – you – play – a – _beat_!" he shouted as he banged the stick on the drum.

All band members stood at attention – or at least pretended to. "Creepy…" Mallika murmured.

"I wonder where Hand-job is," Victoria mused aloud. Her response was a quick rap on the head. "Ow!"

"I believe there's no talking at attention, Ms. Mendez," Handal told her, the slightest bit of an upturn at the ends of his lips.

Finally, a break was called. The players strolled around as they waited for popsicles to be brought out and drank their water. Strider was talking to Mrs. Durham.

"So, Ms. D, how are you?" he asked casually enough.

"Oh, I'm fine. How are you Mark?" she asked him.

"You know how it is. Can't keep the ladies away."

Mrs. Durham rolled her eyes. "I'm sure Mark."

"Oh, believe me, it's harder than it sounds," he told her. "I bet even you have a picture of me stashed somewhere."

"Well, I do have a picture of every member in band. Requirement as a Band Director."

Strider just smiled and nodded. "But mine on your desk and framed, right?"

Mrs. Durham just shook her head. "Um, _no_, Mark."

Joe was leaning against a tree. "Honestly, I don't know why we're learning this stuff," he was exclaiming in a semi-melodramatic way. "You learn this marching for _performances_. _Not_ for going against a powerful enemy. Honestly, like a full marching band playing music _isn't_ going to be noticed!"

Kristina just nodded. "Well, you still may not have to go. I, on the other hand, still have to be a general." She rolled her eyes. "That'll be fun."

"Why'd they pick you for that?" Joe asked her.

Kristina sighed. "I don't know. They felt I was qualified for the job. How I'm going to control so many people is a mystery to me."

"Andrew! Put that egg away! You don't know what's going to come out of it!" Victoria yelled at Andrew Jennings.

"This is just 'cause I didn't play humpty-hump with you, isn't it?" Andrew asked her. In response she squealed like a young girl in frustration and distress. Andrew and David laughed.

"Wait," Jeff interrupted, in a slow, innocent, and questioning voice, "I offered you humpty-hump, Andrew. You turned me down."

"Well, I'm sorry Jeff. But it's like I have time anymore. All these people keep asking for hand relievement!"

Uproar shot up from the gathered bandies. Jeff just tried to hide his face as he laughed. Andrew was wearing his usual brown jacket, along with a t-shirt with a snapshot of Mario going against Bowser.

Suddenly, Andrew turned to Victoria. "I've got bad and good news."

She looked up and asked, "The good news?"

"The Jamaicans are gone but seafaring nomads have moved in instead."

Victoria got up, completely dismayed. "What? The Jamaicans are gone?"

"Well, yeah," Andrew explained. "I mean, they kept me up all night with their stupid marimbas. And they always had the munchies!" Again, this drew laughter.

Without expectance, the egg that was on the ground next to them started to shake. Cracks started to form along its sides. All members looked at it. Soon, the shell broke and an orange dragon fell out.

"Woah!" was the general response. They all peered closer towards it. It looked up towards them.

Andrew bent down and picked it up. He looked at it and nodded. "I think I'll name him Penis." Everyone laughed as Victoria hit him.

"What? I'd name him Vagina, but then everyone would just make fun of him!" Again, he was beaten.

"Alright, alright!" he choked out between laughter. "I'll name him Smiley." He tried to not laugh but the innuendo seemed to suit Victoria more than the blunt one did.

Several months passed. People had been sent out to search for the Valvewraiths and when they returned, all were accounted for but one.

Mr. Slepak, Mrs. Durham, Handal, and several others met to discuss what was to be done. In the end, it was decided that several armies were to be sent with Marisa, for her safety.

"They may be easily spotted," Mr. Slepak noted.

"And all the better," Handal told him. "They can fend for themselves and they'll be separated. Rowell doesn't know the Valve bearer's identity yet and such scattering will be useful. Besides, to have found he remains of the Hagsnards' horses means they are making their way back to Miseri. A bigger group may mean they cover more ground."

Preparations were quickly made for the Valve Ring's departure.


	13. The Valve Goes South

**Chapter 13  
****The Valve Goes South**

You do the dryin'  
I'll do the dishes  
Who'll do the crying  
When all them wishes don't come true?

You do the washing  
I'll do the folding  
Whose heart is breaking?  
And whose arms are holding someone new  
Sitting on a peaceful lakeside?  
Didn't hear the roar of the waterfall come in  
When it's all a sorry mixed story,  
When it's all so easy and nice

Here comes trouble in paradise  
-Bruce Springsteen

The Clarinet of Enders shone brightly in the morning sun, the marks of Fluten smiths and runes of Brass upon its sides. Strider leaned against a wall with it in his hands, looking over the assembled people that were to depart with Marisa.

Handal strode over to the relaxing Strider. "And how are you today?"

Strider sighed, glancing towards Handal with a look devoid of worry. "Getting by. And you?"

Handal sighed. "Just living, my old friend; just living."

Strider checked his watch and looked towards the rising sun. "What are the groups?"

"Take a look for yourself," he responded, waving his hand over the scene in front of them, each of the band members with whom they were to travel with. "Mike Connors is to lead the Saxophones, Jonathan and Chelsea are to lead the Clarinets, Kristina is to lead the Flutes, Emily is to lead the French Horns, Spencer is to lead the Trombones, Jeff is to lead the Trumpets, Tyler i-"

"Okay," Strider interrupted. "I see. And of the four?"

Handal sighed again. "They refused to be separated. They shall all be under the Clarinets, as you will be too."

Strider cocked his eye brows at Handal. "A Flute, Trumpet, and Oboe in the company of Clarinets?"

Handal laughed. "Well, the two survived my accidental grouping with Chelsea. I can't see why Melissa cannot do it again. And I'm more than positive Marisa would kill anyone first before letting harm befall Mark."

Strider nodded. "Well, you know more than I do." He took out his own pipe and stuck it in his mouth. "Any herbs?" he asked.

Handal opened his coat and drew some out. He handed them to Strider, remarking, "It will be rough for them."

"Is that so?" Strider asked as he lighted his pipe.

Handal nodded. "The Musical World does not take lightly to cross-instrument friendships anymore."

Marisa looked at the shining metal before her. "What is it?" she asked.

Nick laughed. "What is it? It's mail! I stole it from a Trumpet, a while ago."

Marisa took it hesitantly before trying to hand it back. "I can't accept this," she told him.

"Oh, don't worry; the guy was an ass anyway. His ego had exceeded that of a regular Trumpet as well. It was a good lesson for him," Nick reassured her.

She smiled and said, "No. I meant it's too kind a gift.

Nick looked out towards the woods. He looked towards his left and watched the roaring waterfall that bordered the southern exit of Rendellin. "No," he told her. "You'll need it out there." He drew her in. "Be safe."

She half chuckled. "Are you alright? You're acting like a parent."

He laughed as well as he pulled away. "Well, at some point I had to. Even if a tad bit too late."

Barimir was in the process of putting away his baritone away. Before placing it in its case, he gave a long blow into his instrument.

"Loud and clear it sounds in the valleys of the hills," he said, "and then let all the foes of Goldir flee!"

"I would hesitate next time you think to blow your horn," Handal told him, striding over. "The last thing you need is to bring the attention of Miseri upon your party. Have you decided which troupe you will depart with?"

Barimir looked up as he finished latching his case. "I will travel with the Baritones. No offense to my fellow Clarinets, but I've always found the Brass to be a more reassuring group than Woodwinds."

Mike snorted as he walked past the wizard and band member.

Barimir shook his head as he stood. "The very honor and view of Goldir may fall at stake during this journey. I will be sure not to let it slack."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The moon shone eerily down. A breath of air left Jonathan's mouth as he gazed around the marshland. "So why was this called?" he asked an approaching Kristina.

"I don't know," she told him as she shivered, eying Jonathan warily. "I was told by Mike to be here."

The two watched as Mike, Spencer, Chelsea, and Emily came forward, greeting the two of them. "Well, Mike?" Chelsea asked him.

"We need to decide how we're to proceed," he told them.

"What do you mean?" Spencer asked him.

"I think the Clarinets and Flutes ought to combine. If we plan to do anything, they'll need to get along and it'd be better if the camps were closer together, instead of so divided." Kristina, Chelsea, and Jonathan all took a while to respond.

"It'll make Victoria happy, at least," Jonathan muttered.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Glad no one died in that decision." He turned to face all of them. "We need to consistently meet so we decide where we're headed and what course of action we'll take. Also, so that none of us fall lazy, daily marching lessons ought to be held as a group."

"Wouldn't it be wisest for Marisa, Handal, or Mark to decide that?" Spencer asked, looking up as a gust of wind blew by him.

"Marisa doesn't know where we're going," Mike told him. "And Handal has laid the work onto us. He claims other business at the moment."

They stood in silence for a moment. "Okay then," Emily was the first to say. Slowly, everyone departed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The sound of food being devoured once again was raised to the ears of Kristina, Jonathan, and Chelsea. Kristina sat across from Chelsea and Jonathan at one of the mess tables in the huge public tent for Clarinets and Flutes that had been constructed. All three sat, eating and not talking. Suddenly, Kristina looked up.

"So," she said, pleasantly enough, "the Clarinets rather sucked today, didn't they?" Both clarinetists looked up slowly. Chelsea's hand started to nervously flick the bone in her right hand.

"Pardon?" Jonathan asked slowly.

"Well, they just seemed to be yelled at often, is all," she said sweetly, looking directly at the two.

Jonathan placed his food down. "Kristi, I've got a riddle for you; it ought to be simple enough. What's never straight but always should be?"

"Enlighten me," Kristina responded, her smile straining.

"A flute at attention."

Kristina's smile dropped. "Oh? Well, at least we didn't have to be told to stay quiet today."

"Yeah, that's 'cause you've covered every other day," Chelsea muttered.

"Well, at least we got to attention alright," Kristina countered.

"You're right – and we actually didn't have to repeat our flanks 20 times," Jonathan responded.

"Well, we aren't a waste of wood and plastic."

"And we aren't a waste of metal. Hey, that kinda sounds like a trumpet, doesn't it?"

Kristina bolted up. "Oh, you did _not_ just compare me to a trumpet," she stated evenly.

Jonathan shot up as well. "Well, I don't see why not – you're loud, obnoxious, and don't know when to shut up!"

Before anyone else could move, mashed potatoes were whipped directly into Jonathan's face. He fell backwards and tripped over his seat.

Again, before Kristina had the satisfaction of smirking, she had her face full of mashed potatoes as well. She wiped them away and glared at Chelsea.

"Get them!" one Flute shouted and a food fight ensued.

Chelsea and Jonathan dived behind an overturned table. "Thank you for that," Jonathan told her, reaching to grab a plate of food lying on the ground.

"No problem. No one gets off insulting a fellow general or Clarinet like that." She peeked over and chucked food at a Flute trying to escape. He screamed in pain as the piece of meat hit him squarely in the gut and he fell downward.

"Nice shot," Jonathan told her as he hurled some green beans over the table. He glanced to his right as another Clarinet was pelted in the eye with more mashed potatoes.

"My eyes!" he screamed in pain as and proceeded to writhe on the floor. Chelsea and Jonathan exchanged glances.

"Cover me," she told him. She sighed as she tied back her hair. "Let's see just how much Clarinet they can take."

However, before either person could do anything, a shriek was heard from outside. Without hesitation, Kristina, Chelsea, and Jonathan bolted from the public tent. They ran to the tent they thought they heard the scream from and whipped open the side of it. Michelle sat on the floor in a corner of the tent, looking terrified.

"What's going on here?" Kristina demanded.

Michelle pointed a finger at Victoria and choked out, "She was touching me."

Confused, Chelsea and Jonathan looked at Victoria. "What were you doing?" Chelsea asked.

"Waking her up," Victoria responded innocently enough. "I was simply shoving her lightly."

"Sh-sh-she –" the distressed Michelle sputtered, pointing desperately at Victoria. "She's always making crude jokes! She'd find this _funny_!"

Victoria giggled and batted her eyes. "Who, me?"

Barimir stuck his head in at that moment. "I heard screaming," he told the other five.

"It's under control," Chelsea told him.

Barimir then eyed Victoria. "That one," he said, lowering his voice. "Should she really be with other females. We can't trust that she won-"

"Oh, what are you?" Jonathan interrupted. "Twelve? I certainly hope you aren't going to make a fuss over something like orientation. Besides, Chelsea can attest for me, when necessity comes, you won't care who's watching you when you change out here. We've left the comforts of home."

Chelsea nodded as she said to Victoria, "Tori, be kind to strangers." Victoria just giggled again as Kristina, Jonathan, Chelsea, and Barimir left the tent.

They started forward before Kristina stopped them. "That tent," she said, motioning to one near them, "is it on fire?" Seconds after, the tent burst into flames. Mike bolted around it and headed towards them.

"We've been spotted. Find Marisa, if you can, and get out of here!" In the next second Mike was gone.

"_Shit_," Jonathan muttered. "Grab you cases and let's get out of here." Chelsea, Jonathan, and Kristina ran to their tent. Each grabbed their respective instrument and took off together. They dove into the marsh and trudged forward, heading towards the forest. Each helped each other onto the land as they delved inward. They simply ran until it started to get dark. Chelsea look upward.

"Crap, I can't see the sky. Does anyone know where we are?" she asked.

"Over here," the heard the voice of Strider say. They looked up a hill to see him standing there. "You guys got lucky," he told them.

Once they had crossed over it, they saw Handal, Marisa, and several others sitting around a fire. Mark, Melissa, Henry, Mike, Emily, Michelle, Victoria, Barimir, Andrew, Jeff, Mallika, Monica, Laila, Laura, and Spencer were all sitting there. Smiley was on Andrew's lap, sleeping.

"It seems some more join our group," Handal remarked as smoke floated out from his mouth. He stuck his pipe back in it, inhaled, and released. He stood, then, and looked towards Strider. "I think, my friend, we have some matters to discuss." The two departed into the forest. Jonathan sat down with Chelsea and Kristina around the fire. No one said anything as the fire burned.


	14. A Fireside Chat

**Chapter 14  
A Fireside Chat**

Now, Suzy Skrew had a partner named Sasha (Sasha) Thumper (Thumper)  
I remember her number like the summer  
When her and Suzy, yeah, they threw a slumber - - party  
But you can not call it that 'cause it was slummer  
Well, it was more like spend the night  
Three in the morning yawnin', dancin' under street lights  
We chillin' like a villain and a nigga feelin' right  
In the middle of the ghetto on the curb, but, in spite  
All of the bullshit, we on our back starin' at the stars above  
(aww man) Talkin' 'bout what we gonna be when we grow up  
I said, "What you wanna be?"; she said, "Alive" (hmm)  
It made me think for a minute, then looked in her eyes  
I coulda died; time went on, I got grown  
Rhyme got strong, mind got blown, I came back home  
To find li'l' Sasha was gone  
Her mamma said she with a nigga that be treatin' her wrong  
I kept on singin' my song and hopin' at a show  
That I would one day see her standin' in the front row  
But two weeks later she got found in the back of a school  
With a needle in her arm, baby two months due  
Sasha Thumper  
-Andre Benjamin

The moonlight drifted through the tree branches. A rabbit poked his head out of a hole, taking a quick glance around before ducking back in. The only noise in that night was the sound of crickets with an occasional croak from a frog. Handal and Strider disturbed the noise as they shuffled through some fallen leaves. They gazed out at the marsh: reeds poked up from the muddy water. Some frogs hopped from place to place. Occasionally a tongue could be seen grabbing a fly in mid-flight.

"It seems we have more than we had anticipated," Handal remarked. He bent down to pick up a leaf. He spun it in his hand by the stem, watching the light of the moon filter through the quick snatches of background the leaf revealed as it twisted back and forth on its stem. "He's beautiful," he softly remarked of the moon.

Strider broke off a trig from a nearby tree. He proceeded to peel it apart. "How many did you want or expect?"

Handal let the leaf drop and looked towards Strider. He straightened and brushed off his robes. "Nine – including you, me, Marisa, Henry, Mark, and Melissa – would have been ideal. Yet our number has grown beyond that."

Strider noticed a bug crawling along the bark of a tree trunk next to him. He eyed it before slowly squishing it with a twig. "We'll do with what we have, I suppose."

Handal stuck his pipe back in his mouth as he slowly let smoke out, drifting upwards. It curled slowly, barely being caressed by the wind. Again, the moon shone through the delicate filter in the night sky. "As we always do, Sire Brask; as we always do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The pearly light of the moon cascaded downward where it evaporated in the red glow of the fire. No one said anything as they sat there.

"So…" Mike started. There was no response. He sighed and tried again. "Where's everyone from?"

Laura shifted closer to the fire and pulled the sleeves of her zipped up sweatshirt further down.

"Isn't the fire enough?" Chelsea asked her.

Laura looked up, startled. She scooted further inward. "I'm cold," was her only response.

Spencer leaned against a tree, towards the ends of the circle around the fire. He glanced up towards the sky every so often. With every movement, his eyes darted over to the sound.

Barimir cleared his throat. His action didn't create his desired reaction; barely anyone looked up from the ground or stopped staring into the fire. Undaunted, he proceeded anyway. "As you all know, I fare from Goldir. My linage is from the royal blood of that realm."

"That is to say, of the bastard kingdom of the race of Grendvall?" Mallika asked. She didn't look up. There wasn't even much emotion in her voice when she asked the question.

Monica, Laila, Jonathan, and Chelsea all looked towards her. Being aggressive for no reason (or, really, ever) was not in her nature.

Barimir stood. "How dare you talk to a prince in that manner," he told her, slowly advancing.

"I don't see why not," she murmured, gazing at the ground. Barimir's boots stopped on a twig, snapping it in half. "Grendvall, 'the great race of old'? In what way? The leaders of the entire Musical World. And now – the only thing that remains is Goldir. Every other kingdom died out."

Barimir sneered towards the girl, but she didn't seem to be paying attention. "Are you blaming _me_ for the world's divisions? I didn't create factions! If anyone did, it was that supposed prince out there with that daft wizard…. I dare say, what does he think he'll claim if he seeks the thrown again? Not Goldir; we stand on our own." He sniffed and went to sit back down.

Michelle broke her gaze with the fire to look towards Mallika. "And why should it be Clarinets that govern?" she inquired. It wasn't attacking yet it wasn't simply a musing either. When Mallika met her gaze, she understood the depth of Michelle's question.

"Petty," Barimir spat under his breath, breathing deeply afterwards. He pulled a flask from his jacket and took a deep swig of the continent.

"'Frailty, thy name is woman'," Mike spoke suddenly, surprising the entire group.

Barimir exhaled raggedly, hastily retightening the cap to his flask. "Yes…that's an excellent quote. From what is that?"

"Shakespeare," Mike told him. "_Hamlet_." Barimir nodded as he tucked his flask back away. "Of course though, Hamlet _was_ mad." Mike shrugged and stoked the fire with a stick. Barimir just stared at Mike for a moment in confusion. After a length, he shifted himself towards the outsides of the circle and starred off into the forest.

Laura pulled out her iPod, in a black case, and proceeded to put the headphones into her ears.

"And how about you?" Jonathan asked her, cutting through the new, settling silence.

Again, startled, Laura looked up. "What?" she asked, taking an earphone out from one of her ears.

"Where are you from? What's your background? Your history?" Jonathan repeated.

Laura looked around, noticing that the spotlight had been put on her, though no one really moved or looked in her direction. "I – I don't know," she said uncertainly at first but then strengthened to a tone of indifference. She went back to looking for a song on her iPod. "I was adopted. I don't know who my original parents were."

Slowly, some movement was stirred from the sitting bandies.

Laura sighed. "I don't mean to sound like the old cliché, but I was adopted by a couple that couldn't have kids. Flutes, obviously. They found me as a baby." She closed her case and shifted around on the log she sat on. "In any case, I don't know where I'm from. You can ask me. I dunno."

"Well, what of your stepparents?" Jonathan continued.

Laura shrugged. "They're nice. They raised me well. I really can't complain." She seemed to stop for a moment, leaving a vacuum in her vacancy. "I miss them," she added at the end. She sort of stared forward, so that she looked to be just caught in her music.

"Do you have any siblings?" Victoria asked.

Laura looked up. "None that I know of," she told the Clarinet before staring off again.

"And how about you, Jon?" Victoria asked.

Jonathan didn't stir. The question repeated tore his eyes from the Flute. "I left them," he responded simply, pulling out his own cloth coat to wrap around himself.

"Why?"

"They're assholes," he told the group, covering up. "They cared more about themselves than they did anything else. Instead of doing the job of being parents, they were too busy worsening the job they should have already done – keeping their marriage."

Again, eyes were listless and heads wandered, but they all were listening.

"They were constantly bickering. It was always vindictive." Jonathan's eyes were terse as he glared into the fire. "So I left. I went out and fell into the army. Over time I rose in rank and eventually met Chelsea finally at the Battle of the Five Instruments. And I've kinda just worked with Chelsea since then and have stayed in touch with Victoria for nearly as far back as I can remember." Jonathan continued to stare before wrapping himself tighter.

"And you, Kristi?" Victoria then asked.

Kristina didn't look up. She simply softly exhaled. "I'm from Goldir as well," she told them. Barimir glanced towards her, then looked away abruptly. He continued to gaze out into the forest. "My parents allowed me to try another instrument other than the clarinet, like most Goldirian parents do, and I took to the flute. I could never get used to the clarinet, something that's not taken lightly in Goldir. So I finally left.

"My sister – she plays the clarinet. We don't talk much."

Smiley stirred in Andrew's lap. He pet the dragon on his head, lightly. In turn, Smiley curled himself more in Andrew's lap, softly growling in satisfaction.

"What about Jeff?" Spencer cut in, his first time speaking that night.

Jeff looked towards Spencer. He slowly shrugged, a feeling of ease radiating from him. "There's not much to say of me. Just kinda…freeloading." He gave a slight smile towards the group. "There's not much to say about a little Trumpet like me." Possibly due to his youth, Jeff did appear to you as just that – young. It was of the kind that was striking, that stood out. Yet his demeanor begged of unnoticed attributes.

He was towards the outskirts of the circle, so he leaned back against the trunk of a tree behind him. "No real issues for me, you know. Rather boring, actually."

A rustling from some of the side branches drew their attention away from each other. Strider and Handal emerged again from trees. Handal cast his eyes around at the bandies before him.

"I trust you all got along well," he breathed slowly. There wasn't much response.

"They seem to be tired," Strider whispered to the wizard. "Either today's events have tired them out or they all took part in a huge orgy during our absence." Handal cast a sidelong look at Strider, though the seriousness on his face never dissipated.

"Let's head on," Handal told the group. "The forces of Miseri do not rest, so ours shall be sparse. We have many leagues to go."


	15. Search Through DarkThe Bridge of Vûdën

**Chapter 15  
A Search Through the Dark/The Bridge of Vûdën**

Of late – it's harder just to go outside  
To leave – this deadspace with hatred  
So alive  
Writhing with sickness, thrown into banality  
_I decay_  
Killed by the weakness, but forced to return  
Turn it off

I watch the stars as they fall from the sky  
I held a fallen star and it wept for me, dying  
I feel the fallen stars encircle me  
Now as they cry…

It won't be all right  
Despite what they say  
Just watch the stars tonight as they – as they disappear – disintegrate…  
And I disintegrate  
'Cause this hate…is fucking real  
And I hope to shade the world  
As stars go out and I disintegrate…  
-A. F. I.

Handal was crouched down to meet the gaze of the others in the fellowship. Rain dripped down his nose as the soft hiss of water hitting stone rose to their ears. He looked at them. "There is a way that we may attempt," he told them. "I had thought of it before, but it is not pleasant.

"The road that I speak of leads to the Mines of Mornia." Only Emily raised her head; all the rest made no movement. The legend of Mornia had stretched across many lands and had reached many ears.

"Why dare to tread there?" Barimir asked drowsily, looking up from his crouched position. "If we can't pass the mountains, let us head southwards until we come to the gap of Norr-on, where band members are friendly to the players of Goldir. Or we could pass the Mien and get to Goldir by the regions close to the sea."

Handal cast him a weary eye. "Have you not heard what I have said?" he asked as he wiped his brow. "Things have changed since you've come north. No longer can we venture near Rowumell and hope to not face detection and conflict. The Gap of Norr-on is closed to us so long as we have Marisa. Under the open sky we face detection still; this is why I say we neither go around the mountains nor over them but under them. This, at least, Rowell will least expect.

"I would lead none of you there unless I knew there was some possibility to lead you out. If there are orchs still in the confines, it will not be good, but most of them scattered after the Battle of the Five Instruments. We still have hope that Mornia may be free.

"There is even a chance that Brass still dwell there and that, in some deep hall of his fathers, Root-rast may be found."

"I will tread the path with you, Handal," Emily told the wizard, meeting his stare.

Handal nodded towards the French horn. "Good; I feel safer walking in Brass ruins with a Brass than by myself. But keep at mind, I have ventured there before, and I have come out as well."

"I do not trust it still," Barimir told the wizard, also meeting his gaze. "And I will not venture unless all of the fellowship be against me. What do the others say?"

"I'd rather _not_ go there," Kristi muttered, rubbing the side of her head against her shoulder for warmth. Before anyone else could reply though, a shrill piercing noise rose up.

Everyone cringed. "That'd be the sound of bows on strings," Handal remarked over the noise. "Where the bows howl, there also the orch prowls. It seems our way of travel has been forced upon us. Follow me!"

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Emily walked alongside Handal as the group continued onward. She talked in hushed, hurried tones about stories she had heard of Mornia and the tales of French horns long gone. As the two proceeded forward, her red hair seemed to reflect the light of moon as if reflecting her spirits as the group trudged along.

At a length, the group came to a stop, seeing now why the mighty river that used to flow along their path had now stopped. A lake sat beside the stony walls of the group's ending, having been damned long ago and filling the valley with water. Though Marisa looked, she could see no entrance.

"There are the Walls of Mornia," Handal told them, indicating the walls of the mountains before them. "There, the Gate stood at one time, the Woodwind Door. But we shall find no way here; I doubt anyone would wish to make their way across that lake or even give the energy to swim. We shall travel around, I'm afraid."

Marisa gazed at the lake's surface before proceeding forward, watching the small imprints of the drizzling rain make their impressions along the otherwise smooth surface. She gazed to her companions before shaking her head and moving on.

"Well, here we are at last!" Handal let out after much silent marching. "Here the Woodwind-way ended. The West-door was made for their use when passing with the Lords of Mornia. They were better times, when there was still close friendship between those of different instrument, even between Brass and Woodwinds."

"It was not the fault of the Brass that the friendship waned," Emily said, "or at least due to a French horn."

"I haven't heard it to be due to the Woodwinds," said Mike.

"And I have heard both," Handal cut in, "and I will not give judgment now. But I beg of you here: do not let your instruments divide you. I will need you all as this journey continues."

Handal approached the wall and, finding a smooth part amongst the curves and ruts, he cast his hands along the stone, muttering words beneath his breathe.

He stepped back and gazed at the stone. For a while, no words were spoken. Then, as like a spark amongst ash, the bit of silver slivered through the dark and brown stone. Steadily, they etched out a design in the walls, creating a door in their presence.

"There are the emblems of the Lord of Mornia," gasped Emily.

"And there is markings of those of wood and wind," Mike spoke softly. Along the tops of the doors were writings in the Tongue of Saxophone of the Alto dialect.

"What do the words say?" Marisa asked.

"They are of Alto Sax," Handal told her. Andrew looked up from where he was placing twigs in the unsuspecting Victoria's hair. "But they do not say anything of importance to us. They say only: _The Doors of Mornia. Speak, friend, and enter._ Thus, I have only to speak the password and these doors shall open. I know many tongues and will not need the assistance of any here, though I thank you for any prepared offers. The tongue is some form of Sax, probably Alto or, at least, of Woodwind decent. That much is certain."

Handal raised his staff and touched it to the stone. In hushed tones, he spoke against the door. The tongue was varied. At times it sounded soft and quick, at others loud and sharp. Only to Mike, who had lent some studying to the dead language, was any bit understood.

Nothing happened.

Again, he tried in the same tongue. When that didn't work, he tried other sayings and words. Still, no movement was made for the doors to open. In more hurried tones and quickened speech, Handal tried the Tenor and Bari dialects, Fluten, the Tongue of Clarinet, Piccolo, Oboe, and Bassoon.

"Jonm, jonm!" he cried and struck the door with his staff. "Open, open!" he shouted and repeated the demand in every language and dialect that had been created by an instrument playing being. Then he threw his staff on the ground, and sat down in silence.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

For a time, they sat. Finally, in aggravation, Barimir picked up a stone and hurled it into the water. The stone quickly sunk but, in its place, a froth of bubbles rose to the surface and slowly traveled towards the walls of the mountains.

"Why did you do that, Barimir?" Marisa asked, crouched on the ground. Her words were cold. "I don't need Handal to tell me that other things may lurk out here. We already have the orchs and we are to enter Mornia. Dare me not: I need not the lake. Don't disturb it!"

Henry looked up, gazing outwards through his glasses. "If we could get in…" he barely mused.

The ripples in the water grew and neared.

"Of course!" Handal exclaimed as he jumped upwards. He swiftly put his staff to the door and murmured a word. Groaning softly, the doors started to part. Through the part-way, stairs could be seen proceeding upwards.

"The door reads _Speak "Friend" and enter_: I had to just say the word friend in the Tongue of Saxophone and the doors would open. They were better times. Quick! Let us go in."

However, before anyone could move, Marisa was yanked from her feet and came crashing to the ground, the air knocked from her. In a flurry of pebbles and dirt, she was pulled backwards toward the lake by a tentacle. The group looked up to see tens of more surging upwards from the lake.

Not even thinking, Mark grabbed an axe from Emily that she had brought along with her and dived after Marisa. Getting slightly ahead, be began to hack with a furry at the tentacle.

It let go of Marisa and Mark pulled her away, the two gasping in fright. Many more tentacles came out and the water boiled more angrily than before.

"In and up!" Handal commanded over the noise, pelting back down the steps he had climbed beforehand. All made their way as hurriedly as they could and just in time. The doors were slammed shut and a great cacophony rose outside and against the doors.

"Well," Handal sighed, placing a hand against the exit, "it seems we have but one way out."

"I knew something horrid was there," Marisa muttered, still on the ground against the crouched Mark. "As soon as I touched the water. What was it?"

"I'm afraid I don't know," Handal told her. "Something has crept, or has been driven out, of dark waters under the mountains. There are older and fouler things than orchs in the deep places of the world. Of that, be sure and wary." He did not give voice to his thoughts, though, which had realized that, whatever it had been, the creature in the lake had been detected first by Marisa or that her voice and tone had changed upon its realization.

Handal raised his staff and a small, yet piercing, light came from the top. Following his lead, they wound their way up the steps to the top. Upon reaching the top, Marisa spoke. "I think we ought to eat before continuing onward, Handal." The wizard glanced towards the Clarinet. A look of humored hopefulness pervaded from her eyes. Handal sighed. "She knows me still," he thought. He briefly smiled before softly nodding towards her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Every band member carries an instrument and a weapon. There are plenty of creatures, forged in the dark and with little use for ears, that cringe at the sounds of music. Of a select few, such noises can bring death. But, for orchestra members – creators of their own music – instruments did little good for the wielder. For such purposes, then, did each of the company carry a means of protection.

Emily carried with her an axe, long used by the hands of French horns. It had a long history and had been passed down from generation to generation. At last, Därmel Parr had given it to her.

The axe was plain, from its outlook: a simple metal rod made the means of handling and the blades were worn in appearance from use. It was a double-sided blade, though, and always kept sharpened and refurbished, when necessary. The weapon was lightweight and had the emblem of the Parr linage crafted on the sides of the blades; there was no coloring or gaudy showing; simply the design engraved had sufficed.

Andrew wielded a hammer that he had created himself. Around the handle, leather had been wrapped and sewed tightly together for better handling. The top was a simple, iron, rectangular block. A single LP with a logo behind it was the only markings.

Mike carried a sword, of Woodwind craft. Its name was Horomata, of the ancient Tongue of Saxophone. The extent of its history was unknown; Mike had found it in orch hands when he received it.

Jeff, as well, carried a sword, but it was reduced to fit his stature. It had actually been bought rather hurriedly, since Jeff had no anticipation for any weapon's use originally.

Both Chelsea and Jonathan carried small daggers, one of the standard weapon-uses for the army. Since quick movement, agility, and stealth had been essential for their posts, they both had army edition blades, identical and non-attracting in look. Only Chelsea knew also how to wield a bow and arrow. She had applied her own engravings, choosing her own arms to put upon her bows and, when she had the time to apply it, her arrows. Jonathan, however, only had the two small daggers.

The rest of the Clarinets were equipped with swords and the rest of the Flutes were equipped with bows and arrows. Spencer carried with him a mace.

Barimir held a sword, with many engravings and a long history of use in the royal line of Goldir.

Those of the Nyre had been simply given daggers, to suffice for their lack of knowledge with weaponry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Handal peered up at three different passage ways. The one to the left headed further downwards, the middle continued at the same height they had been traveling, and the last headed upwards, sloping and slowly. In hushed tones, Emily talked to him as the two peered towards the arches, though no writing was depicted there.

Marisa sat to the side, mulling in her own thoughts. Melissa, Mark, and Henry sat near her. Randomly, Melissa just looked up and evenly stated, "Kitten." Mark looked up hopefully as Henry just gave her a questioning smile. Marisa barely glanced up and gave a weak smile of her own. It was quickly dropped as she continued to glare at the ground. She wrapped her arms around herself even tighter.

Jeff looked up. "Do you think they're almost done?" he asked slowly.

Andrew patted Jeff's spiked hair. "My Jeff, you are pleasant to the touch!" Jeff gave him a questioning glance. Andrew laughed and shrug his shoulders. "I wouldn't know." Smiley crawled up Andrew's back to rest on his shoulder, looking around the cavernous hall. He made a soft noise and curled himself tightly together.

"Ahh, alright then…" Handal murmured as he rose. "I think we shall proceed to the right," he told the group. "The middle has an odd smell to it and I think it's time we started heading up yet again."

Strider stood. "Let's rest first. There's a room I found while you two were deciding." He lead them all towards it. In the middle of the ground in the center of the room was a gaping hole, chains above it leading downward.

Handal looked around. "It seems this was meant to be a watch place for soldiers watching the entry ways outside. Notice the well in the middle? The cover, I'm afraid, has long been broken. Take care none of you fall in."

Not really listening, Melissa slowly traveled towards the well, peering down it. She picked up a rock near her foot and let her hand dangle over the hole, toying with the idea.

"_That_ would not be so good an idea, Ms. Took," Handal said, his voice cutting into her thoughts.

Melissa turned to face him, setting the rock down. She shrugged and nodded. Handal exchanged it.

Suddenly, a noise rose from the side, behind a few rocks as an, "Ow!" was raised up by a male voice.

"You idiot! There could be orchs around," a female voice came after.

"I recognize that voice," Mallika said slowly. "Tauber?" she asked as she headed forward. Nonetheless, Handal kept the staff he had risen upwards, pointed towards the area.

Slowly, the percussionist Tommy Hersh, and the color guards Rebecca Tauber and Kyrstin came out. Tommy, due to his embarrassment, tried to smile and laugh, though no one else found the mirth.

Handal sighed. "While none of its members will admit it, there are certain downfalls to the Band. One is that, if one member goes, all follow after. I'll trust that since you made it thus far without our detection, you can be better hid than that display just showed. How you entered from a different entrance and still managed to find us is a mystery you shall have to explain to me another day."

Thanks to Kyrstin, Rebecca and Kyrstin were greeted by the Clarinets. However, none of the other members appreciated the presence of Color Guard.

"What kind of quest for _Band_ includes _them_?" Michelle muttered, glancing towards the two. Tommy, however, found it harder to mix, due to the lack of percussion.

It was morning outside, but none there knew it. In there, the darkness seemed to stretch onwards. Even as they went further on, no means of knowledge of outsides came their way until they reached what seemed like a huge room. By a few cracks in the ceiling, some sunlight filtered in. From that minimal sunlight, the pillars and walls were visible, if only barely.

The generally somewhat bouncy and upbeat Emily stopped in amazement. Jeff and Spencer as well gazed on in shock. "Hempmel," Emily softly let out.

Most of the group was set to preparing their beds for the night. All of the Brass in the group, except for Melissa, was slightly enraptured by what they saw before them, though.

Henry just peered around as he undid his blankets on the ground. "I can't imagine how anyone used to live here," he told his friends. "It's too dark." He took his glasses of for a moment to clean them.

"It wasn't always this dark," Emily told him, being next to the four. "At one time, light used to bear down heavily and much passed through her. This used to be the city of Hempmel, renowned by every instrument, not only the Brass. Därmel used to tell me about here all the time." She fell into a pensive silence after that.

Andrew leaned over towards Henry. "Wow, she really _is_ touched by all of this." She glanced up towards him at that.

After their sleep, the group noticed that Emily had headed towards a door. Handal followed her, the group following him. As they entered, there seemed to be a tombstone. As soon as Marisa saw it, a thick feeling rose in her chest that seemed to pull her downwards.

Emily leaned in close to the tomb to read the Brassish. "Here lies Root-rast, Lord of Mornia." All there bowed their heads.

"He is dead then," said Marisa. "I feared it was so."

A loud pounding rose up then. Strider and Barimir quickly bounded back to the doors. "Drums?" Barimir asked. "Something else lurks in these dark and 'barren' halls."

"Ah, why did we delay? We may be trapped. It's best we take the back doors," Handal exclaimed.

"No!" Strider immediately commanded, his ear still to the door. "That won't lead us downward and we will not charge through Mornia, being pursued, blindly. If it's orchs at our tail, they'll see what days of no masturbation can do to someone." With that, he threw himself to the door, closing it slightly. He peered out again. "Handal!" he shouted to the wizard.

Handal quickly moved to thrust his staff out. A blinding flash lit up the vacant city and the sight of several faces fleeing met their eyes.

"I have bought us some time, but it will not be much. Let them assail the doors; we shall be ready." With those commands, Strider and Barimir pushed with haste the doors closed. He ran quickly back to his instrument case to put his instrument together.

All the other bandies drew their weapons. Instead of the regular dagger that she had been given, Marisa drew out on she had received from Nick. Grasping it tightly, she peered rigidly forward. Dust and wood blew upward as the doors shuddered. Voices clamored outside and built in volume.

A shattering sound erupted as a hand burst through an area in the door after much pounding. Not even thinking, Marisa screamed, "For the Nyre!" and slashed at the hand. Whatever blood had been spilt upon the blade, it quickly left and seemed to seep into the dagger. A screech was heard as the hand was quickly withdrawn.

Strider glanced towards Marisa, his eyebrows barely rising. "_Damn_, one for the Nyre indeed. Remind me _never_ to piss a woman from there off."

All other conversation was quickly silenced; the doors were pushed open and the bodies of orchs quickly surged. With equaled haste, the band members surged forward as well.

Michelle dashed up some rocks to get better aim as she fired arrows downward. As Rebecca laid a blow to an orch's head, Michelle got one approaching from behind. Barely flinching, Rebecca turned around and set her flag's pole into his stomach.

Kristi nailed three orchs in the head, deftly jumping over one that jumped at her. She sent another arrow threw his chest as she then glanced around for any other who were approaching. Seizing her quick moment for rest, she satisfyingly adjusted her arm warmers.

Barimir's sword cleaved two down before turning around for more. However, none were left as they retreated.

"Quick!" Handal cried. "To the door! Now is our chance!" However, as they reached it, the sounds of bows on strings reached their ears. In quick response, Strider blew upon his instrument the song _Ninkou Latora_. The bows stopped as shrieks of pain again rose. "And may all know that the Clarinet of Enders has been renewed," Handal quickly stated. "If only its linage would follow. Let us go!"

Abandoning all means of cover, Handal held his staff high, piercingly illuminating the caverns. The group rushed down a stairway, plunging into deeper darkness than what was above. Shortly after, Handal himself came crashing down the stairs, following by loud noises. They all fled, though the harried look of Handal made theirs questions freeze at their throats. At last, they sat and rested.

Strider quickly made his way over. "What happened?" he asked the wizard.

Gasping, Handal looked upwards from where he sat. "I may have faced something in this world I knew not of. I had tried to place a closing spell upon the door when something entered the room that scared even the orchs. It, sensing me, threw upon the most powerful of counter-spells. I tried my best to vie him and it proved too much for the door. It exploded and brought down the very ceiling of that room and exit. I fear that Root-rast will not have a lasting, proper grave like he deserved. I must admit, Nick always had held him with the most fondness, only following Därmel." Handal sighed again. "Ah! I have strength yet, though it was previously lost. I can continue onwards. Marisa, it seems Nick isn't the only Ikon with a thirst for adventure."

In mostly silence, the group continued onwards. Heading out of the tunnel, the air had grown to unbearably hot. Red light suffused inwards. The group peered out into a hall, greater and bigger than the one they had slept in before. Down its center, a crevice had been made, within fire leapt upwards.

"We are near our exit," Handal told them. "May speed be with us." They dashed out as quick as their legs would carry them.

"Be thankful for marching," Barimir exclaimed. "The feet of Band shall always best that of Orchestra." At that, rocks flew towards them, Marisa ducking to avoid the ruble. Barimir laughed. "They're on the wrong side! It was a trap ill made." As the group reached the bridge, they quickly went upon it. It was a narrow bridge, built so that if enemies were to take the preceding hall, they would have to pass to the next single-filed. After everyone had made it across, Marisa stopped in her tracks; her head ached suddenly and fear gripped and chilled her. With dread, she turned around.

A dark figure appeared through the throng of orchs. With a single leap, it flew over the flames, catching fire in the process. It came to the front of the bridge, only to be met by Handal. "Play! This is a creature of the deep, harmed and harrowed by the beauty of musical sound. Play!" he shouted back. Coated in flames, the dark creature rose, lifting its fists upwards.

"You cannot pass!" Handal screamed over the roaring noise. At the sound of his voice, all others ceased. "I am Handal the Legato, of the Council of Wizards! It is my life and duty to make sure that none shall be harmed here. Go back to the darkness and lack of noise! You can not pass."

The creature made only one response: it seemed to rise and the fire seemed to die as its shadow grew. Handal raised his staff and white light challenged the red and black.

"You cannot pass!" he thundered with the howl of flames.

The creature jumped upon the bridge. Without invitation or announcement, Strider rushed towards Handal. But before he could do anything, Handal brought his staff down, showering the hall with a deafening noise. The bridge broke, letting down the beast into the depths below. Handal turned to follow after his companions when he felt something grasp his leg and pull him back. Only at the end was he able to clutch anything, though half his body hung over then. "Play, you fools!" he cried, and was gone.

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With sorrow, they welcomed the sunlight as they burst out of the doors of Vûdën into the plain ahead. The sound of notes and rhythms was still fresh in their ears, along with the noises of flames and orchs. What friends each had, they were comforted. Only the Nyre dwellers, excluding Marisa, shed tears, having known Handal better than anyone else there, besides Strider. He gazed off, in his own thoughts as most sat in their misery. His face showed neither sorrow nor indifference in that setting sun.

Marisa, however, made her way to the edge of the group, away from them all. She wore an expressionless face, seeming to be enraptured in thought. Devoid of any apparent emotion, she seemed cold and distant, a statue to the isolated.

For many minutes they stayed as such, each person lost to themselves. Soon, however, Strider could no longer ignore the coming darkness. He urged everyone to keep moving. He slowly approached Marisa, standing behind her, to the right, for a moment. He raised his hand to get her attention with a quick touch of the shoulder. "We have to move on," he told her.

Not even glancing at him, she turned and slowly followed the leaving group.

XXX

Translations and Pronunciations (letter by letter):

Jonm, jonm! – Open, open!

Pronunciation: horf-hemp-emf-orzk


	16. Keeremp ierkay

_**Note:**_ The font for the Fluten tongue does not show up here. For original documents and font, E-mail and request.

**Chapter 16  
Keeremp-ierkay**

Forgettin' all I ever knew:  
Convenient amnesia  
I suggest you call my lawyer  
I know the procedure  
Lock my body, can't trap my mind  
Easily explain why we adapt to crime  
I'd rather die enormous than live dormant  
_That's how we on it  
_Live at the main event – I bet a trip to Maui on it  
Presidential suites, my resedential for the weekend  
Confidentially speakin' in codes since I sense you peekin'  
The INXS rental  
Don't be fooled; my game is mental  
We both out of town, dog…  
What you tryin' to get into?  
Viva Las Vegas, see ya later at the crap tables  
Meet me by the one that starts to G up  
This way no fraud  
Willie's present gambling they re-up  
And we can have a pleasant time, sippin' margaritas  
Ge-ge-geyeahhh…  
_Can I live?  
_-Jay-Z

The group gazed upward, the sound of water passing by the only noise heard. They ears drums still rung with the vacancy of caves and the clashing cacophony of noise.

"Is that?" Kristina let out as she rushed forward. She slightly laughed, some bit of jollity returning to her eyes. "Yes! I don't believe it, but yes!"

The moon had risen and not much could be seen. Slightly confused, Laura and Michelle also raised their heads, though in confusion.

Barimir sighed in dissatisfaction. "What could it possibly be now?"

The Flutes gave Barimir a look of disdain, while most of the Clarinets shifted from their standing positions.

As for Kristina, she paid Barimir barely any heed. "It's Guon," she said, looking up into the branches of a huge tree.

Barimir stopped. "Pardon?" he asked.

"Keeremp-ierkay," Strider interrupted, looking up as well. "It's an old Flute city of legend. Unlike Mornia, it is still inhabited. The gates are further in, but this is the start of its forest."

Kristina continued to look up in wonder. "I've read so many tales of this place. They are the only Flutes remaining constructed still with wood." Andrew and the other Clarinets looked up again. "The last historical connection of the Woodwinds."

Barimir snorted. "Whatever blood of Goldir you had in you before, you've bled it out. I've heard tales of here as well and they bode ill. Let's tread elsewhere."

Strider slowly approached Kristina and set a hand on her shoulder. "The tales of Goldir and their accuracy have fallen if that's the case. There is no safer route to take than here," he said to Barimir.

"Come, we shall enter," Strider then said to Kristina. "There is more in similarity between a Flute and other Woodwinds other than what their instruments are made of. Stay up later tonight and I'd be happy to show you."

Kristina gave him an embarrassed smile that also looked like she was about to cry.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The canopy of the forest was thick, so that the moon barely made it through the branches. Yet, as if by design, enough light was allowed through so that the ground barely seemed to be cast in shadow. The leaves were a golden color, almost like those in the fall. Water still rested on them from when it had been drizzling.

The bark of the trees was a deep brown and the trunks were thick. Barely a creature seemed to move within, though, and barely a word was said by the group. As if by silent agreement, the walked onward. Melissa, particularly, seemed to be taking in the outstanding beauty of the nature around them.

After a while, Strider stopped the group. "We ought to rest, though I dread to lie on the ground."

"We could sleep in the trees," Kristina suggested, looking upwards.

"Geez, you have more Flute than even Clarinet in you," Barimir muttered, sifting dirt around with his boot.

"And you have more Brass than Woodwind. A Clarinet always bests the Brass," she responded, barely looking back as she jumped up and climbed into the trees.

"Wow," Monica let out, watching her go up.

"She's a free-spirited girl," Strider remarked, looking on as well, "in charge…wild…"

Laila and Mallika exchanged glances as Laila then casted a sideways glance at Strider. "I know what you're thinking, Mark," she warned him.

Mark just slowly nodded as he responded, "You would too, if you were into girls." Laila rolled her eyes.

Suddenly, a voice barked, "Wxy gd to?"

Kristina came crashing down from the branches, startled. "Jcb ap Fs ac mlk tub 1 fe."

Whoever was in the trees laughed. "Ty to aq mon wk kb. Yr aq ar har od ba."

"Only a Flute would have that mirth in times like these," Strider stated, looking expectantly at Kristina.

But there was no more worry upon her face. She seemed entirely delighted, in fact. "It is Flutes, and they say you breathe so loudly they could have shot you in the dark," she responded quickly. She shouted upward in Fluten once more and a rope made latter was let down. She went up as quickly as her legs would take her. Since Marisa was closest to her, she went up as well with Mark following after.

As she went higher up, she saw that a wooden platform had been constructed within the branches. There sat Kristina and three other Flutes, all conversing quickly in the light and airy language of Fluten.

There were two females and one male. All had a look of being carefree. The male had short brown hair while one of the females had long brown hair and the other's was short and red.

The latter Flute was the one to get up and speak. First it was a greeting in Fluten, then continued on in the Common Tongue, though she was slow at it. "Forgive my difficulty, but we aren't used to any language here but out own. I'm afraid this Tongue seems blocky and difficult to pronounce. Still, there are those who go out as messengers into the world to gain information and know many tongues. I am one of them. We aren't used to allowing others into our kingdom, but we had word from Mr. Slepak a long time ago of your coming. We trust his word and, that you have Flutes with you is always a blessing. What instrument are you?" she asked the standing Marisa.

It took a second for a response; the trip through Mornia and a general fatigue that she couldn't place had taken its hold on Marisa. "Um…Clarinet," she got out at last. "My name's Marisa."

"And mine is Jen, in the Common Tongue," the Flute responded back, slightly smiling. "Always a pleasure to meet other woodwinds. How many is in your party?"

"Twenty-three," Kristina replied, her voice slightly faltering at the number. "Plus a baby dragon."

Twenty-three and a dragon?" Jen exclaimed. "Had it grown in its ability to blow fire, I think I would not be able to let it pass. What instruments could possibly be in such a party?"

"Six Clarinets, two Bass Clarinets, four Flutes, a percussionist, an Oboe, two Color Guard, and two Saxophones."

Jen gave her a puzzled look. "But that's only seventeen."

"And a French horn, two Trumpets, a Trombone, and a Baritone," Kristina said as quickly as she could. However, for however poor Jen's Common Tongue, she caught all of it.

"What?" she let out, surprised. "Brass? Disturbers of silence? Tone shredders?"

"Hey, I put good pride into my tone!" Emily shouted up from below.

Jen's originally good humored look had turned into one of worry. "I'll have to talk to my friends here before we can decide what will happen." The three turned together and talked hurriedly.

Kristina just seemed to eye them with anticipation, glancing towards the thoroughly confused Mark and Marisa every once in a while.

Even still, Marisa still seemed too tired to care. Mark, however, gazed on in delight. Spending all his life in the Nyre, to see others of his instrument was an amazement in itself.

Finally, Jen turned to them again. "We've agreed that they can pass through, but they must be blind folded. From the word that Mr. Slepak had sent, this is too dire of a mission for these Brass to have been chosen ill-fully or for us to stop your passage. Once again, the Woodwinds and the Brass shall co-operate. If only there were a scribe when you need one."

All three of travelers smiled slightly at the joke.

XXX

Translations and Pronunciations:

Wxy gd to? – Who goes there?

Pronunciation: Meleekee keenome er-ier

Jcb ap Fs ac mlk tub 1 fe. – Just a Flute and more than 1 friend.

Pronunciation: Nose-apcone tee-erk oke-baa tee-ap skore-ote er-empkone own  
oke-peem

Ty to aq mon wk kb. Yr aq ar har od ba. – That there are many, we know. You are all hard of breath.

Pronunciation: Erkee er-ier teen sk-eye-er-kay mote ote-kone. Keepoe teen teepoe A-teepoe eye-er-ome kone-tee.


	17. A Shift Towards Peace

**Chapter 17  
A Shift Towards Peace**

I was too immature to understand your ways  
Inexperienced back in the days  
Caused so many arguments and strays  
Now I realize how to treat ya, the secret to keep ya  
Bein' faithful now 'cause now cheatin's lethal  
We closer than the hands of time  
Deeper than the drop of mankind  
I trust you dearly, I shoot blind  
In time I clock figures, droppin' niggaz as we rise  
We all soldiers in God's eyes -- now it's time for war  
Never leave me baby, I'm paranoid  
Sleepin' witcha loaded by my bedside crazy  
Jealous when you hang wit' the fellas, I wait patiently alone  
Anticipated for the moment you come home  
I'm waitin' by the phone, this is true love, I can feel it  
I've had a lot of women in my bed, but you the realest  
So if you ever need me call, I'll be there through it all  
You're the reason I can stand tall  
Me and my girlfriend  
-2Pac

The group had spent the night in the trees, asleep with the rest of the Flutes. All the Brass of the party awoke discomforted, for they had been watched with no break. As they all descended back to ground, Jen explained what was to happen next.

"We now come to our sacred land. We do much here and we cannot afford spies. As is, we must ask that the Brass here are blindfolded. The rest of the company shall follow suit, later on in." Jen pulled five blindfolds from one of her pockets.

Emily, however, did not seem content with the decree. "Why should we be singled out in this? I have helped, befriended, and fought by plenty of Flutes. I am no more untrustworthy than Michelle or Laura here," she said stubbornly, motioning towards the two Flutes.

Jen, along with her two companions, was taken back. "Of all instruments, we did not expect this from a French horn. Your kind has always been loyal to Woodwinds. If there was ever a Brass that got along with them, it was you." What Jen did not know was that Melissa had been Nyre raised and that Jeff was not like most Trumpets. As for Barimir, he had been getting more and more sick and tired of the group so he gave no energy to a voice of complaint in this instance. "Surely, do not take offense to this; it is our law and I have no ability to change it. I can only obey."

Emily fixed her self and moved her hand to her axe. "I'm not going to move, unless we don't have to be blinded," she said firmly. The sun was directly behind her, seeming to illuminate her as she stood there.

Jen groaned. "A plague on Brass and their obstinacy, all too similar to their will to play after they've been asked to stop!" she muttered heavily.

Strider waved out a match that he had lighted. He then removed the pipe from his mouth and let out some smoke. "I think the best decision would be to blind fold us all. Twenty-two blindfolded and three not sounds promising." He stuck the pipe back in and looked towards the sun, a pensive expression unfolding.

"That's ridiculous!" Kristina was immediate to proclaim. "There are three Flutes here, all of which know the language and are considered kinsmen. There is no need but for shame that we'd be blindfolded."

"Then let us proclaim: 'a plague on Flutes and their obstinacy'," Strider stated, not shifting his gaze. He then looked towards the group. "We shall all have the same fate and like it." He dumped the rest of his herbs out of his pipe onto the ground and stick the pipe back in a pocket. "It's the decision Handal would have made," he told them, heading towards Jen and taking one of the blindfolds. He put it around his head and tied the back. Following his lead, the rest pursued suit.

As they walked, a feeling overcame Marisa as they entered the Fluten land. She felt her heart lighten and some of the dark that had entrenched itself within her left. The Valve, which was always kept upon a chain against her chest, felt lighter. It was a land that had been touched by the spirit of Band, that had been untainted and breathed the very substance that kept a band together. She could feel in it every instrument, the greatness that individual members had committed. And in its presence, she felt no evil.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The group was led through the forest, with relative ease. Along their way, they came across another group of Flutes that were traveling as well. After receiving news from them, they found that the Lady of Keeremp-ierkay had allowed the blindfolds to be removed. As Jen removed it from Emily's face, she said, "Forgive my actions before. Let us put it behind us. You are among the first Brass to see this land since Mornia's Day."

As the folds were removed from her eyes, Marisa gazed around and gasped. Of such natural beauty, she had not known. The trees stretched upwards, towering like giants over their heads. But there was a patch of sky that was saved, for the trees circled the clearing they were now in. In patches, small blue, red, and purple flowers grew. They grew anywhere, it seemed, for even in the high branches they could be seen. The filtering sun gave the look of a soft and peaceful midday, it fading and strengthening as the group cast their eyes around.

"In this very clearing," Jen told them, "our first king was crowned, with his queen. We have kept it in its original glory as best we could. There is much history here."

And they could feel it. Lives and events seemed to be there, just below the surface of their conscience, right out of reach.

Most chose to lie on the grass, or goof around with each other. Andrew said some remark that made Victoria squeal and chase after him, both laughing in the midst of their fight and even after Andrew was strongly kicked.

Marisa, however, chose to stay standing, still taking in the scene and its accompanying feeling. The bark of the trees was a deep brown and the trunks were thick. The male Flute offered her his flute to look upon. She placed a hand upon it and seemed to still feel the tree used to make the flute in its wood, as if alive as ever. From the corner of her eye, Marisa spotted Strider, standing in the middle of the glade, as pensive as (or perhaps more than) when she had seen him earlier that morning.

Jen slowly approached, taking caution so as to not disturb his thinking. "You were hear before, long ago," she said softly.

He closed his eyes and breather deeply. "_A long_ time ago," he told her. "I was just a child.

Jen just nodded. "We crown each new successor here, though I'm sure you knew that." She paused. "Why did you leave those walls, the courts?"

He opened his right hand; in it rested a red flower, the stem removed. "There are some things we keep to ourselves," he told her. "Some things that should never had been done."

He seemed to want to shred the petals, as he had destroyed the branches at the marsh, but could not bring himself to do it. He took the flower and placed in on one of the few low branches. He said a few words in Fluten of respect to the Flute royalty line.

He gave one more look around the clearing, his eyes lost in the past, before moving on.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was reaching dark evening when they finally came to the city. Fires had been lighted within and upon the walls to give light to any that may fare the way. The walls had been constructed of the huge trunks and they reached very high. A reddish light seemed to come from the entire structure and the airy sound of flutes rose to the travelers' ears.

The group came to some stairs, to which Jen instructed them. "I and my companions shall head up first. Marisa and Kristina may tread afterwards. And after that, any may go at their own will. For those unaccustomed to our heights yet, forgive the stairs. Rest as you wish going up." With that, the three Flutes bounded up the stairs.

After some time, Kristina nudged Marisa. "Let's go."

After the two were high above the ground, they finally came to a platform. While traveling up, they had assed several windows. Inside, by many lit fires, much singing and poems were exchanged, food was plenty, and the sorrows of the world seemed nonexistent. Series of floors and stairs decorated the inside, with more than its own share of rooms and built in houses. On the platform, two sentries stood. They bowed to each band member, in turn. They then opened the doors for the group. Kristina and Marisa were lead higher up to a room. As they entered, they realized it was the King and Queen's hall. As the group came in and took their seats, they were each greeted individually.

"Welcome Mark Brask!" a Flute proclaimed. "The last time you visited here, if my memory still serves me properly, you were just a child! Of course, you are welcomed yet again. Please, take a seat."

"Welcome Emily Parr! It has been long since we have seen the faces of Brass. This is a new age, indeed. May it mark a stronger friendship between those of opposing instruments." Emily smiled and nodded towards the Flute.

After all were seated, the King of Keeremp-ierkay addressed them all. He was draped in long, light robes. It consisted entirely of lighter colors, yet showed magnificently in the light. Upon his head was a simple crown, constructed of the twigs and leaves of the surrounding area. "Here there are twenty-three," he said. "Twenty-four were last to be said together: so said the messages. Has there been a change?"

"No, there has been no change," the Queen then spoke. Silence seemed to come at her voice, though she did not seem threatening. She seemed very good-humored, though in a more controlled fashion than most Flutes. "If he had passed into our domain, I would have been able to see him. As it is, he is clouded from my vision. I had hoped to talk to him, so, please, tell us what has befallen Handal the Legato."

Strider was the only one to stand. "He fell in Mornia. We will not see the likes of his in these lands for many an age," he told the two Flutes before him.

The previous silence was interrupted by cries of sorrow and mourning at these words. "This is awful indeed, sorrow which these lands have not known for many years. Let us have the whole tale, no matter the emotions it draws from us in the process."

Strider than recounted the entire tale to the people present. As usual, no apparent emotion was upon his face. Yet even his look of good-natured boredom and fatigue was absent during this tale. When he was finished, he sat as the rest of the court sighed.

"Indeed. We shall weep for his death," the King said after Strider had finished.

"And you did well to come here," the Queen spoke. "The King of these lands has ruled for many years and he is wise. I have shared those years with him.

"I shared in much of the Council's first forming, back when the band was a group poised at with danger. And, had it been up to me, Handal would have lead that group. But take care. I fear this fellowship walks upon a reed. Shall too many go to the end, they will not be supported and it shall break, bringing all to turmoil. Yet all hope remains as you all stay true." She gave them all looks. As they were sitting there, Monica and Jonathan were looking around the room. Jonathan noticed one Flute, a girl, looking towards his direction so he nudged Monica. As soon as the Flute noticed she had attracted their attention, she immediately blushed and lowered her head, her brown hair moving downward to cover her face. Then, the Queen smiled politely. "Go now for peace and a sound night. You have traveled far and lost much. This, at least, must be afforded to you."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The group was lead to its sleeping quarters, though much of the way was spent in admiration for the magnificent and grand city they had entered. Once they had reached there, they divided into their usual divisions they had socially maintained the entire trip.

As they were fixing out their beds, Laila smirked slightly. "So, Jon, see you've caught the eye of a Flute here," she started.

Jonathan unrolled his blankets, looking up with a unbelieving laugh. "Me? You're mistaken. He eyes were completely fixed on Monica here," he told her, motioning towards his friend on his right.

Monica immediately stopped. "What?" she exclaimed, completely in disbelief. "No she wasn't!"

Again, Jonathan laughed. He took out a pillow and beat against the floor several times. "Why do you think I got your attention back there? If it were me she had been burning her retinas out on, I trusted that you, or anyone else, would have taken no interest."

"But, but, but," Monica started to stutter.

"Aww…" Victoria cooed, going up to Monica and giving her an adoring hug. "Moni's got a girlfriend!"

"I do not!" Monica exclaimed, to snickers from the other Clarinets.

"C'mon Monica, Cloud isn't going to become real anytime soon," Mallika told the distressed girl.

"You know what?" she said finally, standing up. "We are _not_ talking about any relationships I may or may not have in the future, present, or otherwise! Okay?"

The others just nodded, clearly enjoying the situation. "Whatever you say, Moni-chan," Victoria responded sweetly. Monica just rolled her eyes and plumped back down into her blankets.

At that moment, Emily got up and went over to the group of Clarinets sitting there. After eyeing Andrew long enough, who was near the Clarinets but still somewhat to his own, Tyler got up and headed to the relative group. Spencer got up as well and headed towards the Flutes. Tommy just got nearer the two groups in general. Jonathan, Kristina, and Chelsea just eyed each other warily before decided not to move near each other. Chelsea gave Laura one final look before retiring to bed.

Their new arrangements made, the group fell into slumber at last.


	18. Woodwinds

**Chapter 18  
Woodwinds**

How many times can you put me down  
'Til in your heart you realize,  
If you choose to criticize you choose your enemies?

Everything that I say and do  
In your eyes is always wrong  
Tell me, where do I belong in a sick society?

You're no different to me, yeah…  
You're no different – no different to me

Look at yourself instead of looking at me  
With accusation in your eyes  
Do you want me crucified for my profanity?

Concealing your crimes behind a grandeur of lies  
Tell me, where do I begin?  
If you think you're without sin be the first to cast the stone

You're no different to me, yeah…  
You're no different – no different to me  
You're no different to me, yeah…  
You're no different – no different to me

Can't you see, can't you see?  
You're no different to me  
Won't you see, won't you see?  
You're no different to me

Living my life in the way that I choose  
You say I should apologize  
Is that envy in your eyes reflecting jealousy?

Tell me the truth and I'll admit to my guilt  
If you'll try and understand  
Is that blood that's on your hand from your democracy?

You're no different to me, yeah…  
You're no different – no different to me  
You're no different to me, yeah…  
You're no different – no different to me  
-Ozzy Osbourne

He slightly shielded his eyes from the sun that shone above. He smiled lightly; sunbeams had an amazing ability to remove just about any woe.

He glanced at his paper and what he had written thus far. He sighed and crossed it out. He scribbled down a couple bars before looking up again.

There was a releasing factor to writing. It was one that brought you away from the woes of the day and for one moment put you in control – no limits and no end to the possibilities.

That was one of the effects that Keeremp-ierkay had on the entire group – the worries of the Valve and Rowell seemed to be gone, even for that moment.

Jonathan scratched the top of his hair, glancing around at the nature that surrounded him. He was just outside the city.

As he looked to his left, he noticed that Andrew was approaching him. He hadn't known Andrew all that well to begin with, but as he had spent more and more time with him on the Fellowship's journey, he found that he was getting more and more partial to him.

"Jon!" he shouted while still a whiles away. "I've been looking all over for you! My pelvis is aflame with the spark of hormonal activity: my loins thirst for sweet relief!" By the time Andrew had reached the sitting clarinetist, he was trying with difficulty to restrain a smile. He put his hand over his chest. "I'm sorry, that was rather forward of me," he told Jonathan, apologizing. He looked him straight in the face.

"_I want to hump you, Jon._"

There was something about how Andrew always knew _exactly_ what to say. It was a while before Jonathan finished laughing. "Thanks Andrew, truly, but why are you really here?"

Andrew continued to chuckle. "I dunno. Tori wanted me to find you. We're going to be doing random stuff, probably."

Jonathan closed his notebook and tucked it under his arm as he got up. "Well, then, how could I refuse?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Damn it, why don't they have any blow-dryers here?"

Mallika looked briefly towards Andrew before placing an item she had been looking at back on the shelf. "Because, Andrew, we're in the middle of a forest," she said as she continued to browse the aisles.

Andrew put his cap back on, sighing. "Well, I can't possibly do my hair right without one. Now I've got to wear this cap all day." A look of bewilderment came over him as Victoria stole the cap from his head and dashed behind a rack in the store.

There was a homely feel about the store. The entire premise was constructed of wood, with the only windows at the front of the store, and sawdust seemed to be lightly layered all around.

As Victoria slid behind the rack, she upset some of the sawdust on the floor. It drifted upwards around her, her eyes staring intently through the rack as a toying smile extended beneath her lit up eyes. The sunlight caught the sawdust slightly, making almost glow around her.

Monica looked up from some Manga comics she had found within the store. "Toni, what are you doing?" she asked.

Jonathan popped his head over a rack for a view as soon as he heard Victoria's second nickname. "Is she up to something again?" he asked, all too knowingly.

"What do you think, PBJ?" Monica asked the inquiring Jonathan. She shook her head fervently so that her black hair all fell across the front of her face. Then she tried to blow at it halfheartedly.

"Yeah, what do you think, Porn Boy and Jelly?" she asked slyly, a smile still outstretched across her joyful face.

Jonathan shook his head as he remembered the day his nickname had been given to him. "If anyone _ever_ gives you pixy sticks again…" he muttered as he started towards the vibrant girl.

Before Andrew could tackle her or Jonathan talk to her, though, the door opened as Jeff entered. It had been four Clarinets, one Bass Clarinet/Color Guard, one Bass Clarinet, and One Saxophone, so all stopped to look at the approaching Trumpet.

"Hi guys," Jeff started, in his usual, semi-slow, and airy speech. He seemed awkward, standing in the frame of the doorway. "Well, I don't really know most of the people here, and you guys seemed like you knew each other and I was wondering –"

Before Jeff could finish his rambling, Victoria let out, "You want to hand out with us? Aww!" and took after Jeff in an instant. She grabbed the Trumpet and lifted him off the ground, spinning in a circle that clearly had surprised him.

The store manager came out from the back room at the commotion. "Hey! If you don't behave yourselves, you can't stay here!" he barked in Fluten at the band members.

In mutual agreement, the entire troupe exited the store in silence, Victoria still grasping Jeff in the air. Once out, she set him down and started walking.

Andrew quickly followed her, trying to grab his hat. Not interested in the game any longer, she let him take it. The group just walked along outside, taking a look at the various shops and whatnot that were located on the 3rd "floor" of the gigantic city. A salesman happened to notice the group and made his way over.

Had he know the group, he might have meandered his way over towards Mallika. If that had failed, he might try Monica. Hell, Jonathan or Andrew would have been good possibly buyers. As it was, he decided to trail Victoria.

"Ma'am, you seem like a girl with exquisite and fancy taste," he started, following the sweat-top and jean wearing teenager. "Might I offer you the chance to buy a purse made here in our very own Keeremp-ierkay? Made by Flute hands only. The best of quality, only for you." He smiled sweetly towards her, though she was busy looking around her.

Unabashed, the salesman tried again. "Quite honestly, and I give my word, I think this item would particularly suit you. If you'd only take a look."

Realizing that the Flute had been talking to her, Victoria turned to face him, returning just as sweet a smile as his. "I thank you sir, but I'm afraid I won't have much use for your service, for in a couple of days I will no longer be female."

The salesman just stopped and seemed to stare for a moment. Finally recovering, he straightened. He looked towards the other band members, but seemed to decide against it. He quickly turned and walked away.

The entire group chuckled, Jonathan giving Victoria a fierce hug.

They headed outside the city, returning to the relative spot that Andrew had gotten Jonathan. Jonathan immediately headed to a tree and sat down.

Andrew withdrew a box of Everlasting Gobstoppers and started to distribute them. When he got to Jonathan, he emptied two and told them, "Jon gets two due to affirmative action."

Somewhat surprised, all Jonathan could manage was laughing along with the rest of the group.

Feeling remorseful, Andrew followed with, "I'm sorry Jon. You ride the front of _my_ bus any day!"

Soon enough, most of the group was running around, talking and making jokes as usual. Jonathan sat to the side, watching their antics and scribbling into his notebook. He muttered the lyrics he had written down back to himself, making sure the rhythm and phrasing had been done well. He barely noticed when Jeff came to sit next to him.

"So," the Trumpet started with, "Jon, is it? Or PBJ?"

A slight smile came to his face, though Jonathan didn't look up as he erased something from the sheet. "Or, PB, if you want to go with what it started out as," he told Jeff, brushing the shavings off.

Jeff just nodded. "So, you guys don't mind me being a Trumpet, and all?" he ventured hesitantly.

Jonathan half chuckled. "You seem alright, as far as Brass go. Not like there aren't the rare moments when different instruments get along. Your presence in Keeremp-ierkay is evidence of that enough. Now, if you were a Flute, there might be a problem…" he trailed off, laughing at his own joke.

"Why is that?" Jeff asked, startling Jonathan.

"Why what?" Jonathan asked, looking at Jeff.

"Why can't the Flutes and Clarinets stand each other?" he asked.

Jonathan didn't answer for a moment, looking towards Jeff as he tapped his pencil against his notebook. "You don't have any such rivalry amongst the Brass?" he asked at length.

"Oh, we do. I was just curious as to the reasons behind yours."

Jonathan sighed and closed his notebook. "Well," he started, setting the notebook down to the side, "the easiest way to start is to look at all the Woodwinds. Taking the most common and well-known, you've got your Saxes, Claries, Flutes, Oboes…and that's it. You've sometime got a Bass Clarinet, Bassoon, or Piccolo stuck in, and they're fairly well known as well, just less used. And then you have even the _more_ less known instrument players, such as the Contra Alto Clarinet, or Bass Oboe, or maybe an F Alto Flute.

"Now, you have, at most, four or five oboes? The only group that would share any real influence with Clarinets or Flutes is the Saxes. And, trust me, every Woodwind gets their due of insults and whatnot, Saxes more than others. But, for the most part, they don't bother us, we don't bother them. The only complaint I could ever come at for a Sax, that I've ever met, is some have a _little_ too much Brass in them for me to call them Woodwind. But otherwise, I like the players and the instrument. I have a lot of respect for Saxophones.

"Now, Flutes –" He gave a chuckle as he shook his head. "Really, they're not all too much more annoying than mist other Woodwinds. There're some which makes you wish you could put them down like you would a dog, but there're others who I've dealt with and they're a great example of a proper Woodwind. But, take the Flute of Hazenree: they are annoying as _fuck_. Airy, giggling _all_ the time, seems as if you replaced their brain with a peanut they'd operate just the same. Not to mention, bitchy and constantly haughty. While only a faction of the Flutes, they're often used as a reason to belittle the Flutes, particularly in stupid rival arguments. Though, in all fairness, I've seen some Clarinets…but Claries' personalities are all over the fucking place anyway."

Jonathan cleared his through and seemed to come back from a random train of thought. "However, the actual reason for our constant bickering, I'd have to say is simply this: when you go through the other instruments, as I just did, it leaves only the Flutes and Clarinets vying for influence. Not that we really have _influence_, per se, but you really don't get any bigger than the two of us. So, who becomes natural rivals? Flutes and Clarinets."

Jeff just nodded again. "Mind if I ask another question?" he asked.

Jonathan picked up his notebook again, shrugging. "Go for it."

"What's up with Victoria?"

For a moment, Jonathan couldn't answer from laughing. At a length he asked, still chuckling, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, she's very…" Jeff trailed off.

Still laughing, he stated, "She's about as crazy as the rest of us. Certainly as much as Andrew, if anything.

"I mean, really, if it weren't for her, I don't think most of us would be hanging out at the moment, similar instruments aside. She just has this ability to kinda draw people together."

"Did you all know her before this?" Jeff inquired.

"Actually, yes. I mean, I knew Monica and Mallika before this, and Andrew I had met once while in the army, but that was it. I believe she knows Kyrstin as well, actually."

"And Andrew?"

Jonathan laughed. "They have a history.

"I once told a kid who kept insulting her, if he wanted to maintain any sense of social life, he'd leave her alone. Of course, she took control of the situation from there on out and the two get along fine now. But she just has this knack for getting along with people, smoothing things out, recognizing when something's wrong and then fixing it." He watched as Victoria made some kind of sexual joke, getting closer to Monica in the process. All misery, for that moment, was gone.

"There's hardly any other people I respect as greatly as her, you know. I think a lot of us would be slightly fucked if she weren't there. Even if it isn't for her support and the advice she can give, for the simple fact she can take anyone's mood and bring it up almost easily."

Seeming to catch his tangent, Jonathan laughed. Then, deciding against it, he continued, "You know, for all the jokes we make, for all the severely awkward moments we put each other into, and for all the times we _really_ heckle each other, I'm severely protective of my friends. There really is no other people I'll get more defensive or protective over."  
Jeff gave his consistent nod yet again. He sat back against the truck with Jonathan and the two continued to watch the others, content at where they had chosen to be at the moment.


	19. Of French Horns and Flutes

**Chapter 19  
Of French Horns and Flutes**

It is with this urgency I address all of you now.

I need not harp or impress upon you the differ-  
ence between the Woodwind and the Brass.  
While they remain mute, we speak out. While  
they are content with where they stand, we  
strive for more.

Why? Do you dare to ask? Because it is in our  
nature! By virtue and being, we seek out and  
know what is right.

And what is a Woodwind, after all? The Saxes  
lean far too close to us. Some properly label  
them Brass wanna-be's (though ironically, in that  
sentiment, they choose the best path while  
slaughtering their pride). And the Clarinet? Indecisive.  
Even worse than the Sax, the Clarinet draws from  
every instrument personality, unsure of itself and  
always irresolute. And the Flute I need not waste  
my breath here with.

Determine and realize your rightful place! Only  
in Brass lines is one complete and whole.  
Trumpets, never waver in your high and strengthened  
stance; Trombones, Tubes, and Baritones – never  
slacken in the depth of your notes; and French horns –  
never forsaken your comrades in our distinguished  
state.

Propaganda speech read to the players of Goldir in attempt to draw Brass players away from their native land  
_Second Age, 1647884 A. V. (After the Valve) and 1646372 A. D. R. (After the Double Reed)_

She glanced through the window. More wood. She sighed and continued walking. Looking through the shop window, she paused. More wood. It was as if metal didn't exist - other than nails and such. Hadn't they ever bothered to sculpt a great sculpture out of a single metal? Spent days and hard work under the heat and watched the beauty of the fire and sparks that were birthed in the process. Somehow, Emily had a feeling that were the world not ruled by band and utterly musically obsessed (as if such a disinterest in the world could ever exist), she may never had tried sculpting or ever looked for an interest in brass beyond her instrument.

She decided that spending the day alone, thus far, had been excruciatingly boring so she determined to find some of her fellow Brass to pass the time with.

It seemed that Spencer spent most of his time alone. If anyone approached him and engaged him in conversation, he opened up quite easily and was perfectly social but, other than that, he kept to himself.

She figured that if she did seek his company, being Trombone, the conversation would end up in sexual humor and crude jokes anyway. However, that was a given for just about anyone in the Brass section, or Band, for that matter, with Flutes probably being the biggest exception. On the whole, though, it was undeniable that the Band was a sexual being of its own, in many ways that the members knew all too well.

Of her other Low Brass companions, Emily had at her choice Barimir – and there was no way she was spending a day with him. For one, that he seemed to completely abandon the original instrument he had been given and raised on just irritated her. Second, he was just rude and seemed far too conceited for her taste. She'd rather spend all day with the worst Trumpet she could find.

And speaking of Trumpets, that seemed to be the last of her choices in the Brass. Jeff had seemed a little more reserved and lacking the usual Trumpet ego but he had taken to the Clarinet and Sax clan (which was shocking enough for your average Trumpet).

The other one was Melissa. She was more than likely to be different from the rest of the group, as all of the Nyre residents were. She already specifically decided to spend her full time with three Woodwinds (a Flute, an Oboe, and a Clarinet) and the group would possibly divide up their faction at any point for any reason.

Emily had to admit, she admired the unity the Nyre residents portrayed and the fierceness they stuck by each other. Modest and unnoticed, no one dared to try to push any of them around based on cross-instrument relations, particularly Marisa (which the other three seemed to be extra protective of in her weaken state and position).

However, on the note of modesty, at least the remnants of the well-known Trumpet ego could be seen in Melissa. What few bits of conversation Emily had happened to overhear, Melissa seemed quick to a sarcastic comment and a general aura of jib, though most certainly in jest. Also, the way she carried herself was one of authority. Not that she was ever rude or abrupt in her manners; but her gait and demeanor was one that, at least, belayed confidence. Emily decided it was best not to interrupt the four and leave them in peace, even if her boredom was on the rise.

Emily sighed as she gazed up at the towering level of floors within the city. It would be a whole lot easier if there simply were more Brass. The closest thing following after were the Saxophones and Emily had no desire to spend a day with Andrew. Their first acquaintances were not the most memorable. Well, perhaps to him, but not to her.

While normally Emily would have taken immediately to any girl Brass player, the only one (other than her) was Melissa – and she had come to a conclusion about that already.

Thankfully, even she could note, French horns were not the most factional instrument in band. Were she another instrument, integration might've been a little more stressful an experience. To add to it, anyone meeting her was quick to pick up that she had a friendly demeanor and her cheerful mood could bring even the staunchest Emo Flute to a Hazenree status of gaiety.

Being flexible, she sought to see what others outside the Brass family she could lend her time to. Quickly, she decided to seek out the Flutes.

She went up some flights to where the Fellowship had been given rest. Not surprised, she found all three Flutes, with the exception of Mark Siermon, talking. Upon entering the room, all three looked in her general direction.

"Hi," Emily started off. "Mind if I join you guys?"

Kristina was the first to respond, shrugging her shoulders. "Sure," she told the French horn. "We're talking about politics, though."

Emily laughed slightly and asked, "You guys just usually don't?"

Kristina shrugged again. "No. I mean, it comes up and I most certainly talk about it. But I'm in the biggest, most renowned, and hard to reach Flute cities in the Musical World – and I'm sitting around talking about politics."

"Well, have you looked around yet? We could go now," Emily offered.

"No, I did. All three of us did. Covered every spot of this place all of yesterday. So here we are." Kristina gave a settled look, as in all other options had been exhausted, and shrugged yet again.

"Oh. Okay," Emily said, sitting down as a smile entered her face. Glancing towards Laura, the girl looked up, noticed, and quickly gave, "Oh, I'm indifferent. Towards politics, that is. I was told I may become a dictator in Cuba someday, but that's as far as that goes." She half smiled and lightly shrugged at her own inside joke, to which Emily gave a soft laugh.

"So, what about politics were apparently two thirds of you guys discussing," Emily inquired.

"The Other Bandies, as one newspaper tagged it," Michelle interjected.

"Oh," realization coming to Emily, "you mean the non-band members that wanted to join the Musical Kingdom? I had heard about that, before having to leave to attend to Rendellin."

Kristina brushed her hair out of the front of her face. She had dyed it again before leaving with the Fellowship from Rendellin and cut it so that it didn't go past the end of her cheeks. "Exactly. The ones who quit, those with a strong musical interest, and those who just have a _ton_ of band friends. They're claiming that since they have such strong and many connections to band, they ought to be represented and join the kingdom."

"Well, it's not like most of the people there are known by bandies. We've all probably got friends there," Emily started.

"I totally agree," Kristina affirmed, propping herself up on her leg. "My only issue is the ones who quite. That's just unacceptable. If band's not for you, then fine. Don't join. But you can't join and then be, 'Well, I changed my mind….' It's either your in or your out. And I'm sure many would agree with me that quitting is one of the worst things you could do as a bandie."

Both Michelle and Emily passionately moved forward in confirmation, while remaining seated. "Totally," Michelle put in. "You can't be on the fence about that. And besides, if they love music that much, they may end up with the Orchestra if _we_ don't take them and I think that's the _last_ thing that _anyone_ wants."

"Besides, it's not like we're saying, 'Hey, you're part of the Band now!' They're just being recognized as citizens and a part of this empire," Kristina added. "We already jokingly call our friends honorary band geeks. Why not make it legal? I find it ridiculous so little can be decided upon with so little monarchs."

"It's due to that lack of a monarch head," Michelle noted. "If we just had one king or queen on the throne, things could be done easier."

Emily laughed. "You know the legend. And you know the history. The Grendvall line is essentially gone, with the exception of that Mark Brask character." All, including Laura, nodded at this. "And he's already made it clear he won't take the throne. And with the intense rise of instrument pride these last years – the idea of a Clarinet, or any other single instrument, is to render us to ruin. Well, we probably wouldn't fall apart, but most certainly he'd at least be dethroned. You were right – Michelle, am I right? – when you asked why should it be Clarinets who rule the Band. There may have been a reason the Grendvall weakened. What we have no may be more rulers governing, but at least each instrument has a king or queen to represent his or her instrument."

The entire group just nodded again. There was brief silence before Michelle stated, "You should spend more time with us, Emily."


	20. Farewell to Keeremp ierkay

**Chapter 20  
Farewell to Keeremp-ierkay**

The Newt play the flute  
The Carp play the harp  
The Plaice play the bass  
And they soundin' sharp  
The Bass play the brass  
The Chub play the tub  
The Fluke is the duke of soul  
_**(Yeah)**_

The Ray, he can play  
The lings on the strings  
The Trout rockin' out  
The Blackfish, she sings  
The Smelt and the Sprat,  
They know where it's at  
An', oh, that blowfish blow!  
-Disney

Strider approached the four. "Did you notice?" he asked them. "A Brass is associating with Flutes."

The four gave him questioning glances. "Sorry to break it to you Strider, but I'm a Trumpet," Melissa told him gently.

Strider half chuckled. "Yes, but you grew up around these three. I meant Emily."

"Isn't she French horn?" Marisa asked. "It's not _too_ surprising and probably most expected."

Strider shrugged. "True enough. The years have made gross divisions amongst instruments. However, I'm not one to turn down a Brass if she comes knocking at night." The four looked at him, expecting some form of humor to appear. Strider just sighed and stood up. "I'll be around, if you need me," he told them.

A silence rested for a fleeting second. "Yeah, see if _I_ ever come near you, Strider," Melissa muttered out. The rest of the group laughed.

It died as they noticed the Lady of Keeremp-ierkay approaching them. She motioned towards them. Marisa was the first to rise. Following her lead, the others came afterwards.

The Lady led them towards a grove of trees slightly outside the city. In the middle sat a pool or water, looking somewhat like a birdbath. The Lady indicated it before speaking. "Here is the Mirror of Keeremp-ierkay. It displays many things. I can show you things you may desire to see. Or it may show you things that were, are, or may be. I cannot always control it, though. What it may show you may surprise you, please you, or scare you. I can not say.

"Who wishes to view the mirror?" The Flute raised in her hands a wooden flute and looked at the group.

Hesitantly, Mark took a step forward. He approached the basin of water, watching the Lady. She lifted the flute to her mouth and started to slowly play.

Mark gazed at the cool surface of the water, watching it slowly discolor to a calming green. Gently sloping, short hills emerged. It was a forest and all four of his companions were there. He was sitting with Marisa, talking, and pushing a twig into the ground. Midway, it got stuck in his hand.

The scene then shifted, drawing images of the Nyre and other familiar scenes. The melody of the flute started to quicken as the blue skies darkened with smoke. The C Major key turned to a minor. Mark's grip of the bowl tightened slightly. Trees were felled as fire ignited before his eyes.

And then he didn't know where he was. He was swinging as hard as he could – at God only knew what. He was holding a dagger, punching at the air wildly. And Marisa was lying somewhere, stone-cold and pale. Her dark hair seemed to make a sickening contrast to the tone of her skin. Her eyes were shut, blocking the striking, brilliant blue that normally shone when she was excited or happy.

And yet – Mark didn't feel he would win. It was his fault they were there, he knew that. And he didn't know what to do now.

With what strength he had in him, he tore himself away from the basin. The sounds of the flute slowly drifted away as he fell to all fours, retching from the back of his throat. He felt like he had run a mile; his face was flushed and his arms and legs could barely hold him up.

The other three quickly dropped down to help him. He continued to hack and cough, his face turning still redder. With difficulty, they tried to prop him up.

The Lady looked at them silently. "Anyone else?" she eventually, softly asked.

Henry cast a look of skepticism, his mind weaving to see what she was getting at. Melissa cast her one of defense, tightening her grip on Mark as she glared towards the elegant Flute.

Marisa stood up. "I will," she said, unwavering. She clenched her fists and unclenched them several times as she walked towards the Mirror. Gently, she peered over, gazing into the then cool water.

Softly and slowly, the airy noise of the flute rose. Of pastures and valleys, it spoke, climbing the staff as if ascending into the heavens. With a tender swoop, it touched back down to G, rising again. It told a story, as all well crafted and old instruments do; they were dying out, wooden flutes. Metal was quickly superceding them. Were it not for the war, this city would have passed from memory, even amongst Flutes and Woodwinds, as Vûdën had fallen from the minds of the Brass, to pass and be forgotten.

It was Handal, walking ever so diligently upon some road. Yet he wasn't clad in his usual gray; he was cloaked in white with a staff of matching color. At the top, a treble and bass clef and Color Guard flag were carved. Before Marisa could finally confirm the figure, he disappeared behind some building, lost from site.

A white tree shone before her now. It was dying, the leaves falling heavily from its branches. Everything else lived in its garden but it. In two places, it swelled, the bulges resting against each other and seemingly trying to push one another away. Carved into the first protuberance was a clarinet. It was disfigured, due to the swelling on which it rested. Marisa could see it shift and move even as she watched. Before she could take a look at the other hump, however, the vision changed once again.

Marisa immediately fell weak; desperately, she grasped the basin harder to keep herself up. Yet she wanted nothing more than to just drop the floor right then and there and curl into a ball. She was paralyzed with fear and the emotional pain seemed to rake at her insides. It was soothing, in a sick sense, and yet it _hurt_. She didn't know what to do; she felt lethargic and frightened.

And then it emerged. An eye, coated in flames, yet completely black. It wouldn't even be visible if not for the fire which danced around it. It filled the entire area of the mirror and, for a split second, Marisa believed the eye was gazing directly at her.

It started to surge and whip around within the water, boiling and making froth within the bowl. And as she stood there, Marisa knew it was looking for her. It bent its entire gaze in pursuit of her. With what little strength remained in her, she tore herself away from the water.

Reeling, she collapsed into the arms of Henry and Melissa. Mark was still resting on the ground.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been decided that the Fellowship would cross the river separating Keeremp-ierkay and Goldir by boat, since the bridges had been torn down during the constant fighting between Mithnel Goldrenad and Mithnel Misernay. While the king and queen tried to put them at rest, they still decided it best to hold a council.

While all in one room and in the middle of loud discussion, a Flute entered the room. All stopped what they were doing.

"Sorry to interrupt," she mumbled out, uncertainty plain upon her face, "but I was wondering if there might possibly be room in your party for me to also attend." At the end of her winded "speech", she just stood there, waiting expectantly. She was the same Fluten girl who had been spotted staring at Monica some days before.

As could've been expected, a shrill coo was let out of Victoria as she dashed at the, then surprised, Flute. Nearly spinning the girl down, Victoria gripped her in a hug from behind. "She wants to come with us! Can we keep her? Please, Strider, _please_?" Victoria eagerly begged.

His eyebrows went up slightly. "Does anyone else object?" he asked slowly, looking around the room.

Tommy shrugged his shoulders. "I never have any objection to another girl joining." He laughed slightly after the statement.

"Don't bother, Tommy, you might not get too far," Mallika stated over her shoulder. "However, the more the merrier, right?"

"Besides," Kristina added, "we've been missing one since Handal."

Everyone acknowledged the general confirmation. Victoria muttered out a low, "Mine!" and dragged the girl to the ground next to the other Clarinets.

"I'm pretty sure she had her eye on _Monica_, Victoria," Jonathan told the excited Clari.

"If we are done goofing off, I think it best we get back on topic," Barimir interrupted. "Might I remind what we face?"

"Dude, you really need to get laid sometime," was Strider's only response as he settled himself. After he was sure he had everyone's attention, he addressed the group.

"I believe we were last discussing whether to directly descend into Miseri or whether we ought to assist Goldir with their fight against Mithnel Misernay."

"And someone had mentioned that you could restore the proper heir to the throne of Goldir, the Grendvall line, and the Musical World," Spencer interjected.

As he had before, Barimir rose in contempt at those spoken words. "Goldir has its line and it's king already, with two ready princes for the throne. We do not need the Brasks to bear their name there."

Strider rested his head in his hands, thinking silently. "I forwent the throne long ago. I had no desire to take it back, Barimir. You raise unnecessary fears," he muttered between his fingertips. In his mind though, he couldn't help but recall the words of Handal, still so fresh upon ears that had listened to the voice for so long. He knew Handal would have advised for him to help with Goldir. He could rally them together. And the Clarinet of Enders would be an irreplaceable asset. Yet it might not be the best time to reveal to Rowell that it had been re-forged.

He looked up to the expectant eyes of Barimir. "We shall decide upon the way," he told the Baritone.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

As they were leaving, some Flutes approached them. "Here," they told the Fellowship, "take these garments. They are light and will keep you warm." They passed out the clothing to the band members. The all took one, wrapping it around their shoulders. Barimir seemed hesitant, yet received it anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Two Flutes had lead the group to the river and saw them off. As the boats took sail, they watched the surrounding areas. The sun was still rising as the drifted upon the water. Emily shared a boat with Michelle, Laura, and Kristina. She approached Kristina, who was at the headmost, steering the boat.

"It was a breathtaking city," Emily told her, gazing off into sky, watching the sun.

Surprised, Kristina looked to the side of her. Noticing Emily, her calm restored. "Yes, it was. I had always heard tales of it, even in Goldir. For so long I dreamed of visiting it, to actually set my eyes upon its history and achievements." She sort of chuckled. "I think I looked through it too quickly and eagerly, so exhaust it in only a few days." She smiled at the memory. "But when you wait your whole life…" she trailed off.

Hating to break Kristina's reminiscence, Emily asked, "Did you ever take to the Clarinet?"

Shooting a look to the boat that Jonathan was in, restraining a laugh, Kristina immediately said, "No. It was torture to me. I've never considered it my instrument." She looked fondly down towards her case. "Me and Rusty – we just clicked," she stated, referring towards her instrument.

Emily just slowly nodded. Reverting back to the original subject, she started, "I didn't know what to expect when they asked me to join this Fellowship." She paused. "Now seeing what we _are_ fighting for, I fear what we will see coming soon."

The sun seemed to shine towards them, particularly illuminating Kristina's dyed hair. "No matter comes our way, I've got your back if you've got mine."

"Together we stand and together we fall."

Drifting near them, Strider commanded his own boat with Melissa, Marisa, Henry, and Mark. He watched the three Flutes and French horn, though he couldn't hear their conversation.

"An odd day it is," he murmured. "Woodwinds and Brass getting along: these are, indeed, times of change."


	21. Breaking of the Fellowship Part 1

**Chapter 21  
Breaking of the Fellowship Part 1**

Oh!

I am exploring...the inside  
I find it desolate  
I do implore...these confines  
Now as they penetrate  
"Recreate me"

I'm hovering throughout time  
I crumble in these days  
I crumble, I cannot – I cannot find  
Reflection in these days

If you listen  
_Listen, listen  
_Listen close  
_Beat by beat  
_You can hear when the heart stops  
_I saved the pieces  
_When it broke  
_And ground them – all – to – dust  
_-A. F. I.

Mark sighed heavily as he looked at the dying land around him. "You know, I had somewhat imagined that the further south we went, the more sunny and warm it would become. It seems that the opposite is taking place."

Strider looked back at him from the front of the boat, partially smiling. "We haven't gone far enough south, yet. As we travel farther, it'll be more like you described. Farther down, near the Bay of Beradum, it is warmer and would be a happier place, if not for Rowell. Here, we are looking southwest across the north plains of Norr-on. Ere long we'll come to the mouth of the Goldlight and the Sax Mountains near the Norirrim. It's a great land, but they do not tread heavily here anymore. Orchs can shoot their bows far and some have dared to cross the river and raid the herds, when their chances come." Strider shrugged as he looked back forward, carefully directing the boat.

Mark simply looked to his sides, fearful of anything he hadn't noticed before.

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"Marisa! Marisa," Mark hissed in bated breath. It was night out and Mark was casting his eyes in every direction as he tried to wake the sleeping Clarinet from her slumber.

Roughly, Marisa turned over, though quickly changed her movements to being lighter after shifting the boat slightly. "What is it, Mark?"

"I had a bad dream."

"What? What're you, five?" It was her turn to hiss.

"Wha- no, that's not what I meant," he quickly corrected himself. "I meant, I thought I was dreaming." A look from Marisa made him promptly try again. "Okay, here's what happened.

"I was trying to sleep, as we all were, when I thought I noticed a floating case on the water. It looked to be of a trombone – but I swear I've never seen a 'boner with eyes."

Marisa jerked awake in the boat, causing it to slosh some more. Groaning, Melissa muttered groggily, "Stop shaking the boat," and weakly tried to hit the other two.

"Would you like to repeat that last sentence again?" Marisa asked Mark in hushed tones.

"I could have sworn I saw a trombone case trailing behind us. I was tired, and I wasn't thinking straight, so I just assumed that some idiot dropped his case in the water somewhere and hadn't noticed. But then it _looked_ at me. I had seen it traveling behind us for a while, but it soon seemed to be catching up with us. The eyes were almost like humps, on either side of it. And they seemed to glow of their own accord. And there were arms and legs too, paddling it with paddle-feet, like a swan's almost, only they seemed bigger.

"I got up to yell or something but it was gone when I looked again." Mark sent a rapid and timid look in Marisa's direction, as if cautious of how she might perceive him.

Marisa, on the other hand, just sighed. "I don't know, Mark." She was too wary to catch Mark's look of dejection.

In the boat with the Clarinets and Saxophones, Andrew Jennings watched the sides of the forest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something crawl from the water and dash into the trees further into the mainland. "What? What's going on?" he thought to himself. "I must be dreaming," Andrew thought aloud. "Quick, Jon, hump me." Jonathan naturally complied. "Nope, definitely not dreaming: we'd be naked by now."

As the night wore on, Marisa couldn't sleep. She scanned the water readily, keeping watch. As it grew darker, she noticed what Mark had mentioned before: two eyes approaching forward. She unsteadily stood up and unsheathed the dagger Nick had given her. As soon as she faced the eyes head on, though, they seemed to spot her and disappear as quickly as she had spotted them.

Strider moved slightly in his sleep, waking shortly after. He rose, looking towards Marisa. "Why is your dagger out?" he asked; it wasn't the still ready calm that had shown during Mornia – it was an almost stricken fear that didn't belong in the frame or demeanor of Mark Brask.

After hesitating for a second, Marisa said what was on her mind. "Bullom," she told Strider. "Or, at least I believe so."

The tranquility seemed to return. A vision of a figure in white returned to her and Marisa felt her heart sicken. "Good, that's all it is," Strider responded back, a smile forming. "That little bitch has padded after us all through Mornia. If I could get my hands on him, we might make some use of him. If not, we'll lose him soon as we can. Ignoring his undoubted intent to murder us in the night, he might loose some enemy onto our asses."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

At long last, the group came to shore. Upon reaching it, they proceeded by foot. After a few more days of walking, they finally decided to take rest. Strider cooked as the others meandered about, always close to the campsite. After they had eaten, Strider called a council and they gathered around.

"The decision has been forced upon us," Strider told them all. "It is now the time that we must choose which way we shall head. Do we head to the wars of Goldir? Or do we head to Miseri with Marisa? Or, even still, do we cease as a Fellowship itself and go our own separate ways?" Silence descended upon the group. After a moment, Strider looked towards Marisa. "It seems the decision rests with you," he told her.

At first, Marisa made no response. Then, slowly, she said, "I cannot choose. I know we are pressed for time, but the burden is hard on my heart. Give me an hour longer and I will speak."

Barimir shifted from where he sat in disgust. "We don't have the time for petty inconveniences," he told her swiftly.

Closing his eyes as if to concentrate better, Strider quickly said, "Seriously, dude, get a rib removed and do something with yourself."

Turning his attention back to Marisa, after calming down, he just nodded towards her. "Very well, Marisa daughter of Chriso. You shall have your hour and you shall be alone."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

She looked upon the open patch amongst the trees. The colder weather had given a harried look to the plants that populated the area. Yet the feelings of peaceful dying soothed a dull throb she felt flowing from her chest – one that was unexplainable yet always there, hurting and yet comforting at the same time.

She sat down and just thought. Her mind searched within itself to the words and thoughts Handal had expressed. Yet after half her time had passed, she had still not come to a conclusion. Suddenly, she was acutely aware that eyes were watching her and she was certain they were unfriendly eyes.

Marisa jumped up and turned around, but, to her surprise, it was Barimir standing there. His face was friendly, something she had not seen often towards her direction.

"I was fearful for you," he told her. "If Mark Brask be right and there are Orchs near, none of us should wander alone – you in particular. Perhaps I could help and ease you with your decision?"

Marisa sighed, backing up slightly to lean against a tree trunk. "I know my decision – it is a fear of making the choice of what's easier than what's right." She let her eyes fall downward.

"Perhaps you suffer needlessly," the Baritone offered. "I wish to help you. Can I not offer council?"

"I think I already know what council you would give, Barimir," said Marisa.

"You doubt your people," he said gently.

"You've left your people," was Marisa's only response.

The wind seemed more audible than the two's communication at that moment.

"I know not what you mean," Barimir responded, his smile no longer apparent. He tried to restore it but it was forced and false.

Marisa looked towards him and Barimir saw before him the eyes of one who has seen beyond his or her usual sphere. "It's dying," she said softly, embittered with the sorrow of one who has watched an empire fall or seen valor perish; she spoke not as a student, engaged in the memorization of facts, places, dates, and names, but as someone who had witnessed the very event over which they mourned.

"The tree is dying, and, yet, you do nothing. Do nothing but forget who you are. You speak of princes and royal and noble lines. Yet what would you do to the kingdoms of the Grendvall? You would strike down their very founding point and replace them for your own selfish endeavors."

Quickly enraged, Barimir jumped to his feet. With more agility, Marisa dashed behind a tree, staying away from his grasp. He stumbled up, determined to keep after her; she, on the other hand, moved quickly, though seeping in emotion.

"Your blood glints a yellow tinge in the sun!" she choked out, fiercely angry by now. "Wood no longer cascades through it!" She did not weep. History and general perception would cast her in such light. Afraid, shaking, hair a mess, and sobbing, she would flee from the scene, towering from the more impressive male; that is how the world would assume she'd handle the situation. Yet, she was not some incarnation of the mind, to play the petty roles that history had assigned her arbitrarily and against her will.

She might have preferred it though, than the stoic and defiant being she now was. She would not stand prettily and be candy for the eye, but she would suffer now, cold and distilled, distressed by the situation yet not having it in her character to back down.

She was not weak and she knew her duty. The easier path in life was not hers to choose, though history would say otherwise of her. Angry, she taunted the furious Brass.

"And they _wonder_ why there is such animosity between Woodwinds and Brass!" he shouted. "Because the Woodwinds need to hold their tongue!"

Diving beneath a branch and charging behind another tree, Marisa looked him in the eye. Again, that far gone and perceptive look met Barimir's gaze. Leagues, it had traveled, and, of its virtue, he could not doubt. "It's not a question of Brass versus Woodwind," she shot back. "What were you raised on? Don't tell me you didn't grow fond of the clarinet! I've seen things." At this, her voice died, giving away that she had seen more beyond the fickleness of a childish boy.

Barimir stopped for a moment, aware for, perhaps, the first time of the burden she carried. However, seizing her moment, Marisa took off again, making Barimir quickly forget.

"You're a Woodwind by birth, a Clarinet by blood," she told him, his face cut off and shifting through the branches which she ran past. "Anyone can pick up more than one instrument. But to forsake one you accepted and practiced since a child?"

Barimir tripped as he was running, rolling a bit before getting back up. Again, they found themselves on opposite sides of a tree.

"Can't you see?" Barimir tried to ease out, attempting in vain to regain some of the composure he had at the beginning of their conversation. "It is a _gift_ – a gift to the enemies of Miseri and Rowell! We can use it to fight back against them."

"No! No!" she shouted, all the more firm. "Whatever we shall do with it, it will strike us back far worse. Whatever good we in vain try to achieve, it shall turn it into tenfold worse."

Barimir pounded his fists into the trunk, breaking off bark in the process. Marisa did not flinch but gazed at him levelly. She would not back down. "It is by our own folly that the enemy will defeat us! How it angers me. Fool! Obstinate fool! Running willfully to death and ruining our cause. If any have claim to the ring, it is the men of Grendvall and not one from the Nyre."

Marisa went behind the trunk, away from his view. Quickly, Barimir dived behind it – to find nothing there.

"Miserable trickster!" Barimir bellowed. "Harlot! You sell yourself to the Dark Lord and betray us all! I see it now."

As if confused, he spun in circles. Finally, he collapsed downward.

Meanwhile, Marisa charged onward. The world was filled with war. Near the Stoic Mountains, Orchs charged and charged yet again, despite the best defenses from Brass and the Flutes of Soilwood. Directly in Soilwood, Flutes battled strange beasts, birthed in the darkness and lack of noise. And over Mornia hung a cloud.

Horses thundered in Norr-on. Wolves were trained at Miengard and sent out by Rowumell. Everything beautiful seemed to die.

In bewilderment, Marisa turned, seeing Mithnel Goldrenad. It seemed far away, though beautiful; many-towered and proud. But behind it, she saw the grinning gates of Mithnel Misernay, and the haunted Mountains of Shadow, and then to Miseri.

The gates rose before her, iron, black from suit, and great. All hope left her.

She could feel it probing, looking for her. It would find her. It always would have found her.

She heard herself crying out: _Never, never!_ Or was it: _Verily I come, I come to you_? She could not tell. Then as a flash from some other point of power there came to her mind another thought: _Take it off! Take it off! Fool, take it off! Take off the Valve!_

For a moment, they vied in equality, so that she wreathed in torment. And then she could feel herself once again. In full thought, she slipped the metal from her finger. The darkness missed her and continued south. Sighing, she put the Valve away.


	22. Breaking of the Fellowship Part 2

**Chapter 22  
Breaking of the Fellowship Part 2**

"Oh, well, that's all interpreted well enough as far as it goes, Jim," I says; "but what does THESE things stand for?"

It was the leaves and rubbish on the raft and the smashed oar. You could see them first-rate now.

Jim looked at the trash, and then looked at me, and back at the trash again. He had got the dream fixed so strong in his head that he couldn't seem to shake it loose and get the facts back into its place again right away. But when he did get the thing straightened around he looked at me steady without ever smiling, and says:

"What do dey stan' for? I'se gwyne to tell you. When I got all wore out wid work, en wid de callin' for you, en went to sleep, my heart wuz mos' broke bekase you wuz los', en I didn' k'yer no' mo' what become er me en de raf'. En when I wake up en fine you back agin, all safe en soun', de tears come, en I could a got down on my knees en kiss yo' foot, I's so thankful. En all you wuz thinkin' 'bout wuz how you could make a fool uv ole Jim wid a lie. Dat truck dah is TRASH; en trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren's en makes 'em ashamed."  
-Mark Twain, _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_

No one made much movement as they all sat there. The usual groups talked amongst themselves, though always quietly. Strider made little noise or music, sitting and brooding. When someone approached him to question about the history of Goldir, he made no response. Assuming him lost in thought, the person retreated back to their respective group.

"And which way would we choose?" someone voiced at length.

"I say Mithnel Goldrenad," Andrew said, making it obvious that the same discussion had just been mentioned with his own group. He paused, as attention was brought to him. "It just seems to make most sense," he finished in justification.

"I agree," Emily said after, coming out of what had seemed to be deep thought. She looked around quickly after looking up, seeing who was participating in the conversation. "Naturally, I wouldn't want to travel to Mount Doom and would easily prefer the travel to Mithnel Goldrenad. But at this decision, it's become quite clear to me: to leave Marisa would not only be folly but also mutiny to the Fellowship. I would choose Mithnel Goldrenad, but if she does not, then I follow her."

"Me as well," Andrew said, a rare moment when a joke or humor was vacant from his face. The Sax and French horn stopped and looked slowly towards the other.

"And what of the Nyre-dwellers?" Spencer was next to ask.

"We're going with her," Melissa stated simply. "We had from the beginning."

"Though at the time, it seemed so far away. I'm starting to think that Mr. Slepak was right: had we known what we were up against, we would not have wanted to go," Henry told them. He took his glasses off and cleaned them. Putting them back on, he looked up and said with Melissa's simplicity, "But we'll go anyway, no matter where she decides to go."

Laughing, almost nervously, Mark put in, "Marisa's just a little scared at the moment. I know _I'd_ be terrified of meeting an Orch in Mount Doom. She'd turn tail and run, and she knows how funny it'd be to find her like that." He glanced around the group, trying to see their reactions to his joke; it was then he noticed that Barimir was missing. "Where is Barimir?" he asked immediately, abandoning his efforts at humor.

Upon hearing his name mentioned, Barimir came out from behind a tree, making his way towards them. Strider immediately rose.

"Where have you been, Barimir?" he asked. "Have you seen Marisa?"

Barimir glanced wildly around the group. "Yes," his voice came out, haggardly. "She has left us. She has betrayed us all!" he shouted with a desperate nature not heard to the group beforehand.

Strider grabbed Barimir by his clothing. "What do you mean, she's betrayed us? What happened?"

"I – I went – I went to go talk t- to her," the Baritone gasped out, placing a hand on Strider for support and convincement. "She lost it, ac- accusing me of outrageous assumptions. I tried to stop her, but she disappeared. She must have put the Valve Ring on; she plans to betray us."

Not even hesitating, Strider let go of Barimir and turned abruptly. Already weak, Barimir just collapsed.

"We must stop her," Barimir desperately spat, seeming to almost flounder on the ground.

"We must find her," Strider told the group. He was about to follow up with forming groups but the Fellowship had already dissipated, running in every direction. He watched Melissa and Henry take of in one direction, yelling for Marisa. He spotted Mark heading in another direction.

Taking off as quickly as he could, Strider made his way towards Mark. "Come with me, Mark!" he told the running Flute. "None of us should be alone. I have a feeling I know the direction that Marisa is heading."

In the meantime, Barimir sat kneeling in the clearing, alone. He bent forward, burying his face into his legs and the ground; screaming in that direction, he began to sob in anguish.

Though Mark tried his best to keep up, he quickly fell behind Strider's running. Starting to gasp, Mark found himself stopping. Suddenly, realization struck him.

"Whoa, Mark Siermon! You might be fat, so use your head!" he said aloud, poking fun at himself. "Barimir wasn't lying in what he said, that's not her way; but something scared her and that's for certain. She had decided to go to Mount Doom after all. Without me?" And Mark stopped running, the truth sinking in. It stung. And then he ground himself to a new goal: "Like Hell if she will!"

With new vigor, Mark took off again. He wiped his eyes as he thought to himself, "She won't be able to walk across rivers. And she hasn't any equipment. She'll need to get back to the boats. So it seems that's where I head!" He pushed onward even more so than before.

Mark turned and bolted down the path. He tripped over his own feet and fell. Up he got and chugged on. As he reached over a hill, he saw the shore. For a moment, he thought that no one was there. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an empty boat drifting away from the shore.

"Marisa!" he shouted out as he bolted towards the shore. "I'm coming!" He jumped as far as he could towards the boat. Missing it, he hit the water face-forward, sinking immediately thereafter.

A cry of shock came from the empty boat. Marisa looked over to see Mark thrashing and gurgling as he struggled in the dark water.

"Damn it, Mark!" Marisa exclaimed. "You can't swim!" At that, she took off her jacket and cloak, chucked them to a side of the boat, and dived into the water. Swimming to the drowning Flute, she helped him to the side of the boat and into it. Climbing in after, she turned to him, where he was coughing up water. "Of all pains in this world, you are the worst, Mark!" she told him, wringing her hair in anguish as she said it.

"A pain?" Mark got out as he spat up more of the river. "It was a pain to get here and find you! And then where would you be now?"

"Where? I'd be halfway on my way by _myself_," she responded back.

"By yourself? And what good would that've done you?"

"I'm going to Miseri, Mark."

"I know that well enough – of course you are; and I'm coming with you," the Flute said stubbornly.

"It's too dangerous, Mark!" Marisa protested futilely.

"And what does that matter?" he demanded, getting up finally. "How many years have I known you?" he demanded of her. "For how long have we spent night and day together? Since children, we've known each other. If you are hurt, I'm hurt. If you die, I die. And if you head to Miseri, well, damn it, that's where I'm going to head as well. Because, in this world, with everything it's got left for us, we're all we can count on. Because with all we know of each other and with what we've been through, there oughtn't be anything more real. Don't you leave me and I won't leave you, because, if that happens, we've got no one left."

"And I don't want to be alone again," Marisa said, looking ever so slightly at Mark.

Not saying anything further, he just put his hand out. Instantly, she placed hers in his. They both then turned to the oars and began to row.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Glancing quickly upon the ground, Strider searched for any sign of Marisa that could possibly be left. After a while, he noticed that Mark was no longer trailing him. "Fuck," he muttered. "Why did Handal ever place trust in me?" He ran to the height of the nearest hill and cast his glance downward. There, he heard upon the wind the sound of bows and Orch Tongue.

"_Damn!_" he let out as he tore back down the hill to the original campsite. Crashing over branches and rushing straight through shrubs and bushes, he came across it too late.

Pinned up against a tree was Barimir; his instrument lay beside his body, crushed and mutilated.

It seemed he hadn't even bothered a fight. There were very little dead by him. And his sword lay upon the ground, rather than still clutched in his hand.

Approaching from behind, Strider sensed Victoria, Michelle, Andrew and Emily. Sighing, Strider said to them without looking back, "We may have failed. It seems, indeed, that the Fellowship has disbanded, with Marisa gone and lost from us."

"And Barimir slain, though that isn't _all_ that surprising," Michelle commented, though any form of grief or remorse wasn't apparent in her voice.

"And the others?" Victoria asked tentatively, seemingly afraid of the answer.

"Scattered," Andrew responded quickly. "Last I saw most of them, they were unharmed. Though Melissa and Henry…" he drifted off.

Immediately, Strider lifted his head. "And what of them?" he asked swiftly.

"They were taken by Orchs," Emily finished. "Me and Jennings saw them."

Not hesitating, Strider began to search the Orchs that lay at their feet, gathering together supplies as he made his way around. The other four looked towards him as he went.

"What are you doing?" Michelle finally asked.

"What it looks like," he responded simply. "Marisa, no doubt, has headed towards Mount Doom. Or, at least, we shall hope. If not, then we may as well now perform a mass orgy because there won't be much pleasure for us for far on out very soon. As for the others, they either made their escape or received the same fate as Melissa and Henry. Therefore, we head after them." He stood back up and looked at them. "So, we must gather what supplies we can now."

Strider bent down and picked up one of the helmets. Upon it, in white, was the letter R in Fluten rune.

"An R?" Michelle asked.

"The R is for Rowell," said Emily. "That is easy to guess."

"No," Andrew interjected. "Rowell does not use Flute-runes."

"The R," Strider responded, resuming his scavenging, "is for Rowumell. We fight a double enemy, it would seem, though it could have been guessed. For a while now, we have been tracked by Bullom. Going after Marisa is pointless and more dangerous, if Bullom hasn't even heard us right now. We head after the other two and hope for our lives that the others are safe. We that remain cannot forsake our companions while we have strength left. Are you with me?" he asked in the end, pausing as he was ruffling through an Orch's pants.

The four looked towards each other. Victoria and Andrew slowly nodded towards each other, a smile slowly forming.

Placing his hand in the middle, Andrew watched as the other three followed suit.

"Then let us go! Quick, gather what you can. We shall rest little and sleep little as well. Until we find our companions, our lives shall be bent on that. After we receive them, to Mithnel Goldrenad we shall head and, soon, the Dark Lord shall know that the Clarinet of Enders has been renewed and that will still lives yet in the land of Band."

Spurned on by their new goal, all that could be taken was and a new pursuit was made.

"Come," Strider said, heading off with the others behind. "The Fellowship may have broke, but our spirits do not."

Thus Ends the first book  
The Lord of the Horns: The Fellowship of the Valve

Coming, the second book,  
The Lord of the Horns: The Two Directors


End file.
